


The Girl Who Cried Wolf

by etherealmindss



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Human Malia, Minor Lydia Martin/Malia Tate, Stalia, malia is bisexual, scott and malia are bffs, scott and malia friendship, she loves her some boys and girls, stiles and malia, stiles stilinski/malia tate - Freeform, werecoyote stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8213435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etherealmindss/pseuds/etherealmindss
Summary: "Stiles" She breathes out, his name already lost in the wind that now brushes his face. As soon as she says it, he begins to transform right before her eyes. "You." He murmurs softly. His voice is scratchy and carries a timber that is low and gruff from going so long without having to speak. "You brought me back." A reversed Stiles and Malia story.





	1. Quiet In My Town

Today was a different kind of quiet. 

The wind whistled through the trees and the hum of passing cars drone on from Malia’s spot underneath the willow tree in her front yard. In one hand is her morning coffee: black and bitter with one sugar just the way she like it, and in the other is her worn copy of The Shining with the yellowing pages spilling from the spine. With her pen between her teeth, she pulls off the cap and makes notes at all her favorite parts so she can remember what she had felt like reading it her first, second, third, and every other time after that.

She turns at the sound of her father leaving the driveway to open up the family shop. They owned a private garage just a little ways down that road on land that had been in their family for decades. Henry Tate liked to call it his man cave where he fixes up cars and buys and sells spare parts. But of course he always loves when Malia joins him. She’s his girl. After her mother and sister passed away in a hit in run car accident, the two leaned on each other in a way that very few could understand. She loved her dad and seeing him finally content after so many years of pent up frustration and anger at a God who wasn’t listening made her realize that family is the most important thing in the world. Malia remembers one night a few months after the accident, she found her father holed up in the garage sulking and drowning himself in a bottle of whiskey, hoping to drown the pain with it. She took away the bottle and helped him onto the makeshift couch in the sitting room and put her wool blanket over his shoulders. He was passed out in minutes. Next she laid out a couple of Advil and a glass of water for the morning and in all that time, all she can seem to think about in that moment was the lone tear that fell down his cheek as he finally got some sleep. The next morning, Mr. Tate had been unusually chipper, given the night before. He may have been piss-poor drunk, but he remembered the look on his baby girl’s face and realized that she was suffering too. And from that day forward he vowed to be stronger for her. He couldn’t lose Malia too. That’s when he began teaching her everything he knew about cars and she became his little protege. 

Malia had grown up learning things like how to use a wretch, the most effective ways to hot wire a car in case of emergencies, and the a detailed knowledge of everything underneath the hood of a car. She had always been a fixer. She liked building things and taking them apart, so playing around with cars had always been therapeutic in a way when she’d be dealing with the usual teenage stress. 

The blaring of a horn honks and Malia jumps while placing her hand over her heart in surprise. Of course, it’s Scott. 

She stands up from her place on the grass, grabs her backpack, and jumps on the back of her best friend’s motorcycle as he hands her a helmet. 

“You look nice today, Malia. What’s the occasion? He smirks playfully, an obvious implication in his sickly sweet voice.

“I can’t just look nice for myself, huh Scottie boy? She plays dumb, hoping the pink of her cheeks isn’t so obvious.

“It wouldn’t be because of a certain strawberry blonde, would it?” He asks casually, even though you can hear the amusement laced in his tone.

“What! No way Scott, you know I’m over that silly, little crush. I mean I thought maybe Lydia and I could be more but I just don’t know. She kissed me, you know? But it was only to help stop my panic attack. It wasn’t romantic... It’s just- it’s not a big deal, I’m over it.”

Scott smiles sadly at his friend, still admittedly struck stupid at how Lydia doesn’t see how amazing Malia is. He thinks she probably does, but she just isn’t ready to entertain those thoughts yet. Malia has always known she was bi-sexual, even in the third grade when she saw sunshine little Lydia with her head held high and her IQ even higher. She was still the same girl even back then, sassy and confident, and Malia was instantly in love. But as far as Lydia knew, she liked guys, always had. But Scott had never seen Lydia’s eyes shine brighter than when Malia walked into the room, which scared her. Scott’s hopeless love life made him more observant to his friends and pay more attention to signs. With that in mind, he can confidently say that Lydia doesn’t like girls. She likes one girl. The girl. She is the grand exception. Lydia had confessed to him that she’s never been attracted to girls sexually or emotionally until Malia. But if she doesn’t do something about it, someone else might just capture his best friend’s attention. 

They pull up to the school and park the bike while grabbing their book bags. Malia hands Scott her helmet that he had bought for her as a birthday present with her name engraved in the back. It was cute and cheesy but Malia had always complained about how she was a fragile little human and needed the same amount of protection as the big, bad True Alpha. It was funny because while she may be human, Malia is anything but fragile. She has a right hook that could knock a guy twice her size out cold and a cool demeanor that intimidated weaker men. She’s hard and rough around the edges like brimstone and fire-igniting like gasoline and there is not a single person in the world that will tell you different. It does help though that she’s hot as hell with a sailor’s mouth to match, all wrapped up in long dark lashes that fall against dewy sienna eyes and a pretty pink mouth. 

For her, school is the epitome of Hell and she’s convinced that their algebra teacher is the Devil incarnate. 

“Scott, do we have to go? You know that woman hates me. She will literally call on me when she knows that I don’t know the answer and any other student will have their hand raised, yet I’m always her preferred victim of choice.” Malia pouts as her combat boots squeak against the tile floor, each step closer to their dreaded math class. 

“Maybe she is being mean to you because she likes you. Ya know, playing on the whole 2nd grade approach. Or hey, maybe she thinks you’re capable of so much better and she’s going to force it out of you some way or another.” Scott grins, not even believing what he’s saying.

She snorts. “Or she’s just a bitch.”

“I guess it could be that.” Scott laughs, putting his arm around her shoulders and directs her through the door when she begins to walk past it.

“Ugh I hate you.”

“Translation: I love you Scott and thank you for being such a good friend and caring about my future.” He mocks her while mussing her hair affectionately.

“Whatever” Malia grumbles and takes her seat in the very back of the room where hopefully the teacher won’t notice her. 

The clock on the wall ticks by slowly, second by second. With a groan, Malia sticks her earphones in and places her hoodie over her head while sinking down in her seat. Before she knows it, class is over and she’s up out the door, but she can hear Scott’s footsteps behind her. They make their way to the lunchroom and take a seat next to Lydia, Isaac, Allison, The twins, and Kira. 

Lydia tenses up when Malia sits down, something that the brunette girl doesn’t notice, but is very evident to Scott and he can’t help but smirk. However, she ignores his friend and acts like she didn’t even notice that she had walked in. Scott can see the frown that forms on Malia’s face and instantly feels the need to pull her protectively into his arms. She deserves better than to be treated like less than a person, and maybe one day Malia will find someone, fall pathetically in love, and realize that none of the people she thought mattered ever really did. Don’t get him wrong, Scott likes Lydia. She’s one of his best friends and they take care of each other, but Malia is like his sister. He’ll always have her back first and foremost.

Malia self-consciously fiddles with a piece of her wavy, medium length, brown hair and sneaks peeks at Lydia out of the corner of her eye when she thinks no one is looking. The group watches on in pity. They’re a pack and there’s not really any secrets left unsaid between everyone. So therefore, everyone is thoroughly aware of Malia’s lingering feelings towards Lydia and can’t quite ignore the way the strawberry blonde constantly brushes her off. The silence is suffocating to a point that it’s incredibly uncomfortable. Everyone knows about the kiss and no one is willing to talk about it at the risk of receiving a severe tongue-lashing from Lydia. 

Breaking the tension, Scott announces that there will be a pack meeting tonight so they can plan on how to capture the coyote that’s been running around the outback woods of Beacon Hills. They believe that the animal may in fact be the Sheriff’s son, Stiles Stilinski, who has been missing for the past eight years. There has been plenty of crazy animal attacks that haven’t been adding up lately and John Stilinski thinks that it is the coyote that is ripping people apart. They’ve been working with him to try and figure out more about it without tipping him off that it may in fact be his boy. They’re going out tonight during the full moon to look for him.

“Scott, do you really think we should be doing this? How do we even know if this is really that Stiles kid anyways? And what if we can’t change him back? We can’t save everyone.” Malia sighs, turning to her alpha after going over the plan in more detail.

“Malia, we have to try. We can’t just give up on people.” He tries to explain to her, reaching out and grabbing her hand.

Lydia rolls her eyes and decides to butt in.

“Yeah Mal, we didn’t just believe that all hope was lost when the Nogitsune took over your mind. You should understand more than anyone why we have to help.”Lydia says, finally looking at Malia for the first time since they had entered the cafeteria.

“Well why not, Lydia? You know all about ignoring your problems and giving up on people.” Malia scoffs, her words taking on a double meaning as the table gets quiet. Lydia looks shocked and glances down at her hands ashamed, more quiet than anyone has ever seen her. No one has ever been able to leave Lydia Martin speechless and at a complete loss of words except for Malia. When she doesn’t say anything to defend herself Malia gets up from the table with a scoff and walks out of the cafeteria. 

The strings of sanity holding her together unravel before her and Malia is tripping over her guilt. You know that feeling of wholeness that you get when everything seems to be falling right into place and then all of a sudden the illusion you’ve been trying so hard to hold onto is sucked away? That’s what she is feeling right now, simply being- just a disembodied mass no longer bound by blood and flesh. And now she is floating someplace far away from here, like a black hole ripped through her little world she had built in her head and suddenly she’s free falling. 

She hates when someone brings up what had happened those few months ago because it reminds her that there will always be that one single thing that she can never change about herself. In a time not too long ago, Malia had blissfully and albeit miserably thought she was simply as human as they came. She couldn’t hear voices in her head or conjure up a scream that could shatter skulls, grow a pair of claws or tap into unimaginable strength. She had always been the one who would figure things out, the detective behind the operation, if you will. But then one ice bath and sacrifice later, a hollowing darkness crept into her heart that would never fully go away. Her, Scott, and Allison did it to save their parents, and doing that led to Malia unleashing a part of herself that still left permanent imprints in her skin. 

When the Nogitsune took over, everything was in startling clarity. She had looked down at the death and destruction like seeing it all happen through a microscope. The others had been so far away in a place that her mind wouldn’t allow her to follow, a prisoner in her own head. She remembers every kill... Recites their names before she goes to sleep every night. She feels their blood underneath her fingernails and the when she walks home at night she swears she catches a glimpse of the fireflies that carried her secrets. But when she blinks they are gone. Allison almost died that day, cut open by a sword that was under her command. Sure it wasn’t really her that gave the order, but it was her hands and her face and her body that slaughtered the town she loves.

It’s not easy living with that, knowing that everyone looks at you differently, even if they don’t mean to. But she feels that, the weariness in her packs eyes when her back is turned. 

Malia decides to walk home to clear her head. Her feet drag against the pavement and she hears a car tailing her. She stops in her tracks and the car stops as well. And she should of known who it was in the first place. Because of course, in the end, why wouldn’t it be Lydia?

“Can we talk?” She pleads, turning off the car and pushing the passenger door open with her designer shoe.

“About what, Lydia?” Malia asks with a sigh, running her fingers through her mess of hair and pulling at it to calm her nerves.

“Please, just get in, Mal.” She says gently, gesturing towards the seat.

With a huff, Malia gives in and closes the door behind her loudly, hoping Lydia realizes that what she said really hurt her and struck one too many nerves. 

They sit in silence for a while as they maneuver through dirt roads and canopied trees that lead to her house. Malia nervously taps on her jean-clad thigh with her fingernails and tries her best to look anywhere but Lydia because she knows that if she does she’ll find her lips. And Lydia has the prettiest lips: big, full, and cherry red. Just the thought makes Malia shift uncomfortably in her seat.

Out of nowhere Lydia stops the car about a mile from Malia’s house. She doesn’t say a word and Malia looks over at her curiously, wondering why they had stopped moving.

Then she blurts, “Look Malia, I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I know that’s a sensitive subject for you and I should have thought before I opened my mouth. I’m just really sorry. I know you probably think I’m a stone-cold bitch and that I’ve been mean to you lately. I think you know why. I just-I can’t be who you want me to be right now, okay? Do you get what I’m saying?” The red hair looks at her searchingly, hoping to find the answer she was looking for in Malia’s eyes without having to spell it out. 

“Yeah, I know. I think I’ve always known, I just didn’t know how to let you go, Lydia. But I think maybe now I can.”

“Malia- I- I don’t want to stop being friends.”

Malia chuckles bleakly. “Friends. Who knew one word could be the harborer or so much disappointment. She smiles weakly, but tries to look okay. “I don’t want you to feel bad, Lydia. You shouldn’t feel obligated to have the same feelings I do. Don’t worry, we’re still going to be friends. There’s more fish in the sea. You aren’t the only ridiculously sexy red head at this school, you know.” Malia winks and chuckles at her joke.

Lydia giggles lightly and grabs her hand, running her pale fingers over Malia’s tan knuckles.

“I care about you, you know I do, right?” She squeezes her hand tighter and stares at her for a beat longer, hoping Malia can read between the lines and hear the silent “Not yet, not now... Maybe never, but maybe someday” tacked on at the end of her sentiment. “You can do better than me, anyways. And don’t take that faintly, I don’t just say that to anyone, Tate.” Lydia jokes and nudges Malia’s shoulder playfully.

Malia grins in her direction and simply admires the way her long red hair falls perfectly curled down her shoulders and her porcelain skin that resembles peaches and cream. Lydia is so beautiful that it almost hurts and Malia wishes she’d let her show her how good she could be for her. Without another thought, she moves her hand from Lydia’s grasp while getting out of the car to walk the rest of the way to her house. 

“I’ll see you tonight, Lydia.”

“See you, Mal.”

With one last lingering look, Lydia drives away leaving dust and broken hearts in her wake.

The pack gathers in the corner of the woods around midnight. The skies bleed black and an unnatural chill interweaves between the trees. The woods seem larger than life and imposing in the way the darkness seems to give him power. They split up into groups to search: Scott and Malia, Lydia and Aiden, Allison and Isaac, and Kira and Ethan. They agree to meet back up in the same spot in an hour whether they find Stiles or not.

Scott and Malia take off in a flurry, with him carrying her on his back so they can cover more ground faster. Malia bites back her remarks on how she is more than capable of keeping up with him on her own and how the idea of him having to hold her bruises her ego. Scott catches the coyotes scent and takes off in a dead sprint and Malia secures her hold around his neck so she doesn’t fall off. However, she swears she’s experiencing some sort of whiplash with the way her head is swinging around furiously with the rapid movement. 

“There he is!” Scott growls, placing Malia on the ground and taking off after Stiles.

“Scott, wait!” She yells, but it’s too late, he’s already gone. “What an asshole.” She mumbles trying to follow the path that he had taken. Soon enough, she hears the sounds of scratching, howling, and growling that sounds anything but friendly. Stiles must not like us encroaching onto his territory.

Malia stumbles through the overgrown underbrush and witnesses Scott losing the upper hand as he collides to the ground with a sickening crunch. He howls in pain.

“Scott!”

The coyote is about to pounce when adrenaline takes over and Malia lunges in front of Scott, stretching her arms out in a protective motion in over him. She knew that life would have no meaning anymore if something happened to Scott. He’s her best friend. And if that means dying in the place of someone she loves, she’s okay with that.

“Malia, no, what are you doing! Get out of the way!” Scott roars, struggling to get up and push her out of the way to what could be a fatal end to someone as human as she is. 

The coyote is in mid-spring, but suddenly he stops, falling back on his hind legs. 

Malia is breathless, shaking in fear like a quivering leaf. She looks back at the coyote and his head is tilted slightly with his ears perked up. And he’s just staring at her. His fur is an ashy black and his eyes burn an airy blue. Malia simply catches her breath and takes in the magnificence of them. She had seen pretty eyes before, whether it be the warm brown of Scott’s human eyes, the brilliant red of his Alpha eyes or the gilded topaz of Isaac’s Beta eyes, but never has Malia thought it was humanly possible for a pair of irises to hold an ocean inside them. 

“Stiles” She breathes out, his name already lost in the wind that now brushes his face.

As soon as she says it, he begins to transform right before her eyes. 

Fur turns to flesh and his body is made up of pale skin and a mop of brown hair that is almost inky black in the shadows that are cast upon his face. Moles litter his skin like a map of stars and Malia wants to reach out and find the path of constellations on his skin. His cheeks are flushed a rosy pink and low and behold, he’s as naked as the day he was born. And then he looks up at her like he’s seen a ghost and there is no more blue, but something even more beautiful. His eyes are haunting and lost but shine like crystallized amber and they remind her of cinnamon and honey dew. He’s human again.

He’s shivering from the cold and still staring at her with something that resembles awe and something else that she can’t place. His hair is wild and dirty with leaves and sweat, and his lean muscles flex deliciously underneath his near translucent skin. Prominent veins run down the back of his hands that are now reaching out towards her.

“You.” He murmurs softly. His voice is scratchy and carries a timber that is low and gruff from going so long without having to speak. “You brought me back.”


	2. Mr. Nobody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stiles” She breathes out, his name already lost in the wind that now brushes his face.  
> As soon as she says it, he begins to transform right before her eyes. 
> 
> “You.” He murmurs softly. His voice is scratchy and carries a timber that is low and gruff from going so long without having to speak. “You brought me back.”

Stiles POV: It’s in that moment that my whole world shifts into color like flipping on a light switch: radiant, blazing, iridescent color stitches together in the form of the sun beginning to set and trees that stretch on for miles. It’s as if I’ve been catapulted into the Twilight Zone and stumbled into a cosmic horror of the unknown. The new smells filling my nose are overwhelming: mint leaves, pine trees, morning dew, and wildflowers. My head begins to spin. The colors are frightening and blindly and every little sliver of light hurts my eyes. I stare numbly at the spots on my dirty hands, inspecting the moles and veins and flesh that I haven’t seen in so long and thought that I’d never see again. In the place of claws and fur are long, pale fingers that are now clenched in a fist, so much so that my nails bite into my skin and draw blood. It feels so strange touching things. It’s as if feeling something for too long will somehow make this all seem real, but I don’t think anything will ever feel real again. 

But her, who is she?

The first thing I notice before my eyes take in her silhouette is the distinct smell of sage, vanilla, and a hint of freesia. But then I see her like a supernova going off in my brain and all there is are stars dancing around my head like a halo that only I can see. 

Her eyes hit me like a dream that’s long since been forgotten and now I’m lost in a memory. I’m taken back in time to a nine year old version of me sitting around the campfire with my mom and dad.

Sparks flicker off the flames that envelope the fire wood and the air smells of burnt marsh mellows, melted chocolate, and roasted graham crackers. I’m tucked into my mom’s side and she radiates warmth. Her eyes sparkle with mischief right before she sneaks me an extra s’more and winks. Dad is sipping on his hot chocolate and his hands are covered in fluffy, white gloves. He looks upon the two of us and smiles as if he’s never felt so much happiness in his life. He gets up from his spot on the log and walks over to mom and I, putting his sheriff’s jacket around my shoulders with a look of pride. Dad always told me that I would do great things one day and save lives just like my old man. He said that it would all mean something and it was up to me to figure out what that meaning was. 

If only dad knew that I would turn out to be just like the monsters from the stories he would tell me before bed. Suddenly, a voice cuts through the quiet.

“Stiles, can you hear me?” She asks, but it rings through my ears like an echo. Her voice is gentle and calming to a point where I’m wondering if I’m still dreaming. But looking at her now, there’s no way my mind could ever paint an image of those dark, romantic eyes and soft, olive skin with fog surrounding her feet. Only Heaven knows the secret of timeless allure and heart beats.

“Why did you change me back?” I croak, still getting used to forming words into sentences.

“We’re here to help you. Your dad has been looking for you for a while now. We can take you to him. It’s okay now, you’re safe.” She explains.

I chuckle bitterly. “Safe?” I can feel my eyes darken as I roll the word around on my tongue in disgust. “You think that putting a blanket over my shoulders and ‘reclaiming my humanity’ makes me any less of an animal? The world isn’t that black and white, sweetheart. This town will never be safe with me here. You should have left well enough alone.”

“What the hell is that suppose to mean?” Her words burst out of her mouth like mini darts aiming for a target. That target being me.

Tilting my head in admiration, I can’t help the dark smirk that tickles my lips. Her eyes seem to light up brighter in anger when she sees it and her scowl somehow manages to burn away any retort I may have had on the tip of my tongue. For a human, she definitely is not the submissive type. And why do I like that? Inexcusably gorgeous and a quick temper. Glorious.

The russet skinned male from before who reeks of authority shuffles towards my mystery girl and places his hand on her forearm, pulling her away from the scene.

“Malia, let me handle this. I can’t have you setting him off and getting hurt. You’re too much of a smartass for your own good.” He whispers in hushed tones with his eyes still on me as he shuffles her towards a group of teenagers standing off near the treeline.

I automatically don’t like the way his hand lays possessively around her, as if she needs protecting from me. I glower in his direction and keep my eyes on his hands around her arm until he lets go. When he finally does, I breath a sigh of relief. What’s that about?

I decide to antagonize her a little further just to get a rise out of her. I shout across the field, “So your name is Malia? I like it, it suits you. You know, in Hebrew it means “bitter sea.” Saying her name for the first time, I realize that I like the way her name rolls off my lips.

Speaking of which, I’m not really surprised by the way the origin of her name fits her perfectly. I’ve known Malia for all of five minutes and I can already tell that a girl like her is capable of drowning oceans. Free-spirits like that simply cannot be contained, they refuse to be ignored. 

She rolls her eyes and continues walking in the direction of her friends.

“I hope you let us help you. Scott is a great leader and maybe if you tried to connect with us you’d understand that we aren’t doing this to feel good about ourselves. We just want you to know that you aren’t hopeless or a lost cause. We want you with us as you are and we aren’t trying to change you, even if you are kind of a jack ass.” She chuckles and spares him a small smile. “And if not for yourself, do it for your dad. He misses you.” 

I really would love to see my dad again.

She gives me one last heated gaze with those piercing brown eyes of hers before disappearing into the night with the others.

“Is she always like that?” I speak to no one in particular.

“What do you mean?” The guy who I presume is Scott answers back.

“Like she isn’t just one thing. She’s so much... Larger than that?” I ponder, still somewhat confused on where I’m going with that thought.

“I’m not sure I’m following what you’re saying...” Scott says with a quirk of his brow.

“Malia- she’s just- something about her mere presence just demands attention. But it’s not obnoxious, it’s like a warmth, I guess. She reminds me of someone I lost a long time ago.”

Before I realize what I’m saying I stop talking all together. Why did I start opening up to this complete stranger like he gives a shit about me or my problems? These people think they want to help me, but I’ll disappoint them. I’ll disappoint her. And for some reason I don’t want that.

Before I even give myself a chance to mull over what that could mean, I reluctantly follow Scott back to his car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do y'all think?


	3. Born Again Teen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song Inspiration: X &Y By Coldplay

The next morning, Malia reluctantly gets out of bed and starts getting ready for school. She flips through her iPod and selects the shuffle mode when her favorite song begins playing out the speakers. She combs through her endless brown hair with one hand while maneuvering her toothbrush around in her mouth with the other just as “Me” by The 1975 hits her like a shot of bliss. Her hips begin to sway to the beat as her eyes close in the rapture of being alive in that moment. Her body feels weightless and she loves how carefree it all seems. Malia lives for these little snapshots in time when she can just relax and feel like a normal teenage girl for once. 

Her phone chimes at the climax of the song and she groans in annoyance, wondering who is interrupting the best part of the chorus. Just as she realizes that she doesn’t recognize the number, another bing goes off... And then another... And then another. She looks at the messages and can’t help but smirk at the phone.

“Hey-uh Malia- I need your help.” - Stiles

“This is Stiles, by the way. You know, the newly human werecoyote from last night? Broody and sarcastic? Ring any bells?” - Stiles

“I got your number from Scott...you know just in case I needed to get ahold of one of y’all.” - Stiles

Malia quirks her brow in confusion at the text, not really understanding why he wanted her help of all people. Then she notices his slip up. He got her number in the off chance that he needed to get a hold of one of the members of the pack. However, he doesn’t mention getting the rest of the packs’ numbers, which causes her smirk to deepen at that little detail. She decides not to call him out on it and instead files her observation away for later use if needed. Besides, if she brought it up he may change his mind about asking for her help and she didn’t want that. Could you blame her? Her curiosity is peaked. 

“So what did you need help with?” She sends the text and gets a response a second later. He must have already been typing before she finished responding. She’s actually pretty impressed that he’s able to even figure out how to work a phone with his whole time-out from reality he’s been living in for the past eight years. Malia chuckles at his enthusiastic typing skills as another text lights up her screen.

“Can you just come over and I’ll tell you here?” - Stiles

“To your house?” -Malia

“No silly, to my den in the woods. Of course, my house.” - Stiles

“Cheeky and sassy in the mornings, noted.” - Malia

“Ugh whatever, will you just come? It’s embarrassing and if you’re going to laugh at me, it might as well be in person.” - Stiles

“Lol okay fine, I’m coming, send the address.” - Malia

Malia throws on a light brown sweater and a pair of Levi jeans and books it down the stairs. In a rush, she grabs a strawberry poptart between her teeth and bends down to give her dad a kiss on the cheek where he’s lounging on the couch watching a movie. 

“I’m out of here dad, I’ll see you tonight for dinner.” She says on her way to the door.

“Isn’t it a little early for you to be headed to school?” Mr. Tate inquires, turning to face his daughter with a look of curiosity.

“I’ve got to make a stop before I get there.” She explains easily, but intentionally vague in her response.

“You’re not hanging out with any burn outs are you? I know all about the kids these days hitting those blunts and smoking all that marijuana. Because if you are, baby girl, I’d much rather you just do it in the house.” Her father replies cheekily, his boisterous laughter instantly making her laugh as well.

“No dad, I’m not smoking pot. But I mean if you’re into that, we can always have some real father/daughter bonding and cook up some brownies.” Malia grins slyly, loving that her dad is so easygoing and doesn’t take life so seriously. “Besides, weren’t you and mom going to name me Mary Jane before y’all settled on Malia?” She jokes, wiggling her eyebrows at the claim.

“Oh god, don’t remind me. Your mother was one hell of a woman and I loved her like a man loves his car, but she had no taste in baby names. Trust me darling, you lucked out with Malia. I barely convinced her of that one.” He chuckles with a sigh. Talking about her mother instantly made him all fuzzy inside, but also sad at the same time.

“You good here by yourself, dad?” Malia questions. She’s always worried that she leaves him alone too much.

He waves her off. “Yeah, hun, I’m good. Go have a good day at school. I’ll see you later.” With one last look he turns back to the television and kicks his feet up on the coffee table.

Malia opens the door and jumps into her 69’ cherry red mustang and starts down the dirt road to Stiles’ house.

About fifteen minutes later she pulls up to the Sheriff’s residence. Malia would drive by this house every day on her way home from school and it always made her whole mood fall seeing the once beautiful house filled with flowers and life become a lifeless heap of dead plants and yellowing grass. John Stilinski had always been a kind, compassionate man. She remembers she had gotten lost from her parents at a town event a few years ago back when she had barely been tall enough to ride the rides at the town fair. She was sporting two french braids and missing a front tooth, youthful and still naive to the way the world worked. All she can recall is a huge crowd of people and then all of a sudden she couldn’t see her mom and dad anymore. She remembers her breathing feeling heavy like a weight pressing down on her chest and her vision skewed as the group of people became nameless faces all blurred together into one big, panic inducing mass. And then she remembers the large, heavy hand on her shoulder belonging to the concerned man with a badge who had kind eyes and a friendly smile. He helped her find her parents and left her with a gentle pat on the head and told her how brave she was. Malia had thought he was a super hero.

Malia gets out of the car, walks up the path to the mahogany door and tentatively knocks. 

She hears footsteps approaching and is greeted by the Sheriff himself with a wide, welcoming smile.

“Malia, how are you doing? You’re here to see Stiles, right?” He leans in closer. “He’s been really jittery this morning. I caught him pacing in his room and looking at his phone every few seconds. And now I see why, he had a pretty little lady coming by.” He whispers with a raspy snicker. He steps aside and lets her into the house and she hopes he doesn’t see her blushing.

“Is he upstairs?” She questions, realizing she had no idea where his room is.

“Oh yeah, second door on the right.” He explains.

Malia is making her way up the stairs when suddenly she is stopped by the same heavy hand on her shoulder.

“I-uh- I just wanted to thank you, you and your friends, for what y’all did. For finding him. He won’t tell me where he’s been all this time and honestly, I don’t care. I’m just so happy to have my boy back. Thank you for bringing a little bit of sunshine back into my life.” His voice cracks slightly and there’s a few tears in his eyes, but he covers it up with a cough and wipes them away with the back of his hand and smiles at her warmly.

“I’m glad I could help, Mr. Stilinski. But you should really thank Scott, he’s the one who found him, I just did my part to get him home.” Malia explains modestly, brushing off his thank you in embarrassment and looking down at her shoes. She never had been very good at taking compliments or praise.

“He says that you saved him.” He says with reverence, looking at her as if she’s some sort of miracle. It’s funny how it’s the exact way she had looked at him all those years ago. 

Malia doesn’t know what to say. She’s not sure how to take in what he’s telling her and her stomach is doing all these flips and her insides are in knots. She’s not sure if that’s from butterflies or nerves.

The Sheriff takes pity on her and motions towards the stairs. She climbs the white staircase and is assaulted with colorful pictures that line the walls. One contains a naked, baby Stiles covered in bubbles and playing with a rubber duck. Another is of the whole Stilinki family: John, Claudia, and Stiles clustered together for a family picture that looks like it had taken place on the Fourth of July at a neighborhood barbecue. They all have goofy smiles on their faces and the fireworks behind them light up the image in reds, blues, and silvers. Many other pictures are scattered on the surface and Malia can’t help but run her finger over a more recent picture of Stiles, or as recent as a picture of a nine year old boy can be when he’s now seventeen. But here, he looks different, a certain sparkle in his eyes paints him naive and content. He’s just a boy stuck in a frame, living a life that he never wanted to lose and never thought that he would.

“Malia?”

She turns abruptly, taking her hand off the picture and turning to face a grinning Stiles at the stop of the stairs.

“Hey.” Her voice raises an octave at being caught looking through his things. “How long have you been standing there?” She asks with nonchalance, hoping he can’t see how mortified she is.

His smile widens. “Oh not too long, you just looked so adorable staring at my baby pictures, I didn’t want to say anything. You’re kind of cute when you’re embarrassed.” He says off-handedly as if he didn’t just call her cute and adorable. Malia is still stuck on it though, but he’s already half way up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He peeks his head around the corner and shouts, “You coming?” He waits for her to follow before he opens his door and steps inside.

The first thing she notices is blue. 

Blue curtains. A Blue comforter. Blue glowing stars stuck to the ceiling. It resembles a galaxy and it’s if she’d simply drifted into outer space.

Stiles observes her from his spot by the door as he watches her take in his room. He hadn’t even thought about redecorating. It wasn’t exactly high on his to-do list with all the other stuff he had to tackle in the form of high school and human interaction. 

Malia’s nose scrunches slightly while her brows come together in curiosity and he can tell that she’s thinking of a million questions to ask. He wonders if she realizes that she has a very expressive face. It’s as if every thought that crosses her mind has a direct link to her facial expressions. It’s easy noticing things about her, because he finds it hard to look away from her, like when those bambi eyes of hers widened like a deer caught in the headlights on the stairs. And he thinks she is so beautiful. 

He looks at her and all he sees is brown. 

She’s dressed in a worn, light brown sweater that is two sizes too big for her and a pair of snug jeans that accentuate her long, lean legs. Her skin glows with it’s olive complexion and her eyes are doing that thing that makes his knees weak and causes his breath to hitch. She just walked into his life and shifted his world on it’s axis, silently yet abruptly. And that’s when Stiles realizes that his favorite color is brown. Fascinatingly and shamelessly brown. 

But she is also shades of auburn and rust and copper and honey. Her eyes are warm and inviting like autumn leaves. And somehow he can already tell that there’s something about her that is permanent like a coffee stain on a white shirt. It always comes back to brown.

He could feel it. 

Stiles is so lost in thought that he doesn’t register that he’s staring and Malia catches him watching her with a ghost of a smile creeping onto her face. She turns away from him and does a little spin, seeing his room from every angle, hoping it will reveal something about him, just one little secret. There are a million things she doesn’t know about him, but she wouldn’t mind finding out. 

“So... You texted me that you needed my help. What was so embarrassing that you couldn’t say over the phone?” She teases, fighting a smile and covering her mouth with her sleeve.

Stiles groans. He can already tell she is going to laugh at him. He has to admit, it was a pretty lame excuse, but he really just wanted to see her. 

“Well, you see- I don’t know what to wear to school.” He begins. “And before you laugh-” He continues, but he can already see that mirth in her eyes and can hear the giggle she squashes down. She motions for him to finish his explanation but her eyes stay lit in amusement. “I’ve been in the woods for eight years so I have an excuse, okay!” He chuckles. “Just... Make yourself useful and help me not look like a complete idiot at my first day of high school.” He ends his grand request with the best puppy dog eyes he can muster.

Malia rolls her eyes and walks towards his closet.

“Geez Stiles, do you own anything other than plaid?” She questions with a sassy arch of her brow and a bemused look on her face as she rifles through his shirts and pulls out seven different, multi-colored plaid flannels.

Stiles glares at her playfully and goes over to join her. He reaches over to grab another shirt in the corner of the closet when he hears her breath catch and he notices how close they are to each other. Her body tenses for a second and then relaxes the next, her back pressed flush against his chest. She turns her head and their eyes meet over her shoulder and he’s stuck in her pools of chocolate. 

“I-I think I like that one.” She mumbles quickly, detaching herself from him and squatting down to look through his shoes.

And of course she has the best ass ever. Like ever; round, full, and perky. Yep, Stiles is learning all these news things all at once and some things are more confusing than others. But nothing has been as clear as it is to Stiles that he is most definitely an ass man. This new revelation definitely isn’t helping him adjust to his seventeen year old body and controlling its’ happenings, considering he never really got to experience puberty first hand. He takes his eyes away from her before she catches him staring and walks to the other side of the room. Awkwardly swaying from side to side, trying to look anywhere but her, he stares down at his feet and twiddles his thumbs.

Malia comes back over after a moment with a dark green Henley, a pair of denim jeans, and some black boots. She turns around to give him some privacy while he sheds his sweatpants and tshirt but turns back too soon and catches a flash of pale skin and scattered moles over his naked torso. She lets out a breath and pretends like she didn’t see anything, but her head is still swimming from his lean muscles and the woodsy smell of his cologne.

“Are you always so weird about people changing?” He asks in passing, chuckling at how cute she looked with her hands covering her eyes, even though he definitely saw her peek. The thought brings him joy.

She huffs and blows a stray piece of hair from her face and looks up at him innocently through her lashes.

“You think a little skin makes me nervous?” She asks blatantly with a flirty lilt in her voice. She moves closer to him and rises on her tip toes until they’re eye to eye with a few inches separating them. 

Stiles gulps audibly and his eyes flicker to her rosy, pink lips. 

“Stiles, do you want to kiss me?” She whispers, staring him dead in the eye. Her voice is tempting and sweet and he can feel his palms starting to sweat.

“I-I... Yes.” His voice shakes, but he finally gets his answer out with what little confidence he is able to muster up in the heat of the moment with her looking at him like that. She looks sinfully good, even more so up close.

She leans in even further until they’re so close he can smell her strawberry chapstick and the minty coolness of her breath against his lips. 

“Than you better step up your game.” She breathes out, thoroughly enjoying the hazy look in Stiles’ eyes and the slight pucker of his lips. She steps out of his space with a shit-eating grin on her face and starts towards the door.

She did not just do that. Stiles thinks to himself and lets out a quiet groan, all worked up from the thought of her lips on his and the feel of her silky brown hair that he wants to run his fingers through. He needs a cool minute to catch his breath because right now he sees the cute little smirk on her face and he simply wants to devour her: fully and completely in every sense of the word.

“That so wasn’t fair.” Stiles points an accusing finger at her and pouts, not amused by the way she giggles at his grouchy expression.

She snorts. “You shouldn’t have teased me, Stilinski.” She retorts, not backing down.

They both stare at each other without saying anything and then abruptly bust out into laughter.

“You know, you aren’t the worst company ever, Tate. And not too shabby at picking out clothes either.” Stiles admits with a wink and grins at the dusty rose color that tints her cheeks.

“Do you need a ride to school?” She asks, headed for the door.

“Nah, my dad wants to make up for lost time and take me himself. He called in at work and everything. It’s too much but I’m fine with it if it makes him happy.”

“Alright, well I’ll see you there?” She asks, already knowing the answer.

“I’ll be looking for the girl in the brown sweater.” He says with a special softness that he already has reserved for her.

She simply smiles in response and walks out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are y'all enjoying Stalia's dynamic?


	4. Start A Riot

Hushed voices play on an endless loop in the assemblage of hormonal, sweaty, teenagers in the hallways of Beacon Hills high school. All Stiles sees them as is lustful, half-witted humans who thrive off of secrets that are not their own and those who find joy in making such secrets their business. He doesn’t need supernatural hearing to catch the tail ends of conversations right before he passes a group hanging out by the lockers or the abrupt pauses and slightly faltered sentences that follow. Where has he been? Why is he here? Why did he come back?

He isn’t used to having voices fluttering around him all the time and the variations of heartbeats thudding loudly in his ear. His hands are clammy and nothing is making sense. He presses his forehead against the cool metal of the locker and sighs in resignation. Stiles almost thinks about just running out the doors right now and never coming back. But then he spies a spec of brown in the clutter of people. And that single, brown spec brings all the blurriness into focus and the noises around him begin to fade away. Stiles recognizes the familiar sway of those hips, that infectious smile, and the light brown sweater that swallows her up.

Malia.

Her heartbeat is rhythmic and upbeat like the flutter of a bird’s wings and it’s the only thing that is stopping him from going crazy. He listens to it, memorizes it, and hones in on it like an anchor keeping him grounded. Malia looks up to meet his eyes and her heart upticks ever so slightly. Stiles hopes that it’s because she’s happy to see him.

“Stiles, hey. How are you holding up?” She asks concerned, most likely sensing his anxiety.

He runs his fingers through his freshly cut hair. I feel like I’m in the middle of an ocean and I’m quite literally drowning, but now that you’re here I feel like I can breathe. “I’m alright.” He answers shortly. “The people kind of smell funny, my teacher is a dick, and they don’t serve deer in the cafeteria. But other than that, I’m great.” He explains in exasperation as he runs his hand over the stubble of his jaw. 

Malia puts her hand on his shoulder and steps a little closer, invading his space until her hiking boots touch the tips of his shoes. Her earthy aroma reminds him of home along with her vanilla and almond lotion that’s so uniquely her. He stifles a low groan deep in his throat when he catches a whiff. She smells so good.

“Follow me, I want to show you something. I think it might help.” She whispers for only him to hear with a secret smile on her lips. She beckons him to follow her, holding her finger up to her mouth for him to keep quiet and starts walking in the direction of the back hallway. 

They make a few twists and turns and finally run up a flight of wobbly stairs until they reach a black door at the very top. 

“This is where I go when I need to think.” She says simply.

Taking his hand, she opens the door and pulls him though. The door lead outside to the roof of the building where the school funded for a green house to be built for the environmental science class. 

Malia turns and grins mischievously. “No one ever comes up here, so I think we’re safe.” She admits, pulling him along to the pure white building adorned with twinkling lights and wide, open windows to see inside. 

She pulls out a key from her pocket, turns the lock, and pushes the door open before making her way inside. A burst of air hits Stiles immediately but he tries to ignore it. Ever since he changed back, he could never seem to get warm.

The greenhouse sits in muted lighting, casting orange and pink rays of light onto the different flowers. There’s everything from daisies to sunflowers to freesias and many others scattered all over the room. Malia walks up to the rows of lilies and plucks one between her fingers and admires it up close. She then proceeds to tuck it behind her ear and dances towards him.

“You like?” She asks, wiggling her eyebrows and chuckling to herself.

He grins. “You or the flower?” He questions boldly, capturing a stray piece of her brown hair and twirling it between his fingers.

She playfully swats him on the arm and shuffles away back towards the flowers. “The lily, you dork.” She says lightly and snorts, but now she’s secretly wondering what his answer would be to the latter.

He begins walking towards her and strokes his chin in faux contemplation. “Well the flower is pretty, no doubt. But you.. Oh you. That’s a different story.” He continues. “You see, if I was a flower, I think I’d be a rather picky one. I wouldn’t bloom for just any water or light. Because look, the thing about you is... I’d pick your thunder, I’d pick your rain; over anyone’s sunshine any day.” He finishes and she doesn’t know when he got so close to her but she can smell his aftershave and the different flower fragrances in the air. And the tantalizing combination is making her head spin.

Her shoes squeak against the wooden floor and she looks down at her feet, too scared to look up at him. Because she isn’t used to people looking at her, not like that. Not with those eyes and those lips and that smile. And she’s scared that if she looks up, she’ll get distracted by his moles that are like paint splatters on a canvas and she’ll want to reach out and touch them with the tips of her fingers. Where did this boy come from? 

The night they found him, Malia had tried to not pay much attention to Stiles for long. Because if she did she would notice the way his angular jaw flexes when he’s anxious or how his eyes crinkle in the corners when he’s being flirty or even how his lips pucker slightly when he’s thinking too hard. Malia doesn’t want to notice these things, because if she does, she becomes a liability to feelings that she doesn’t want to feel. Because if she’s learned anything in life, it’s that feelings turn to words strung together in an awkward length of sentences and phrases and they tend to come out in drunken hazes and untimely highs. And she can’t let that happen. Good things can’t happen to people like her. She doesn’t deserve it. 

Stiles hooks his finer underneath her chin and raises it up until she’s looking at him. “Hey, where did your mind go, Tate?” He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He can tell that she is upset. 

“I-I...” She stutters.

“Did I do something wrong?” He inquires, taking a step towards her at the same time she takes a step back.

Malia tastes the salty tears on her tongue before she even registered that she is crying. She sits down on the nearby bench and puts her head in her hands. “No, no, it’s not you. You aren’t- you didn’t- I’m just, I’m not good at this sort of thing.” She says, looking up at him with eyes glistening with tears. 

“I don’t understand.” He states with a confused look. But he wants to understand. Stiles wishes this human thing was easy and that he could learn things quickly like math and forgiveness and social norms and most importantly, her. 

“There was this girl... I liked her- she didn’t like me. But I thought we had this connection, you know? Unspoken, of course. But I felt it, I know I did. But I was wrong. And what if I’ll always be wrong and things change and people don’t work out?” Malia questions, not really sure where she’s going with this. “I’m just this fucked up girl with no idea what the hell I’m doing with my life or if this is all even real. What if this life I’m living is a dream and I’m far away from here, a completely different person with a completely different life and circumstance? And what if none of this really matters? What if all my mistakes I’ve made could just disappear if I were to just open my eyes to a brand new world?” She ponders. Malia grabs Stiles’ rough hands between her soft ones and looks up at him with those eyes, and he’s trying not to get lost because if that happens, he may never find himself again. And he’s not sure if that would be a bad thing. He’s always so cold, but with her... Maybe he could learn to be warm again.

He’s quiet for a moment. And not just any quiet, but the different kind of quiet that Malia felt that first day, the very same morning of the day that they found him. And maybe then she had known that something was going to cosmically alter her life in just a few short hours from her spot underneath that willow tree. She just hadn’t know what or how. 

“Why did you decide to stay here? Why didn’t you run off when you had the chance? You could have been anywhere by now, free to live any life that you choose.” Malia asks and Stiles doesn’t hesitate in his reply.

“Because something told me that I just had to know you. Call it fate or God or whatever you believe in, but all I know is that I couldn’t leave you behind. But it wasn’t even my human self that noticed it first. No, it was my coyote half. It sensed you coming, it felt your aura. Nothing would have stopped me from ripping you apart when you jumped in front of Scott if you had been anyone else. I’m vulnerable in my werecoyote state because my control is spotty at times and I can be unpredictable. Any other girl would of had their throat ripped out in seconds. But you weren’t just some girl, you were so much more than that. I can’t explain it, I don’t understand it, but my wolf does. And that quite honestly scares the crap out of me. ” He says with sincerity in words as they easily tumble from his mouth.

Malia looks past Stiles and stares at a stain on the opposite wall, trying to retain what he just told her. What did this all mean? Did she want it to mean anything?

“I just freaked you out, didn’t I?” Stiles breathes out, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, already wishing he could take it all back. He hadn’t intended on telling her so much, but it all just came up like word vomit. But in the end, he wanted to be honest with her. And if she wanted nothing to do with him after that, that would be her call. 

Malia swallows the lump in her throat and stands up. Stiles instantly thinks she’s about to walk away from him. But what happens instead leaves him dumbfounded.

She reaches out her hand to him. “Stiles, dance with me.” She says, her watery smile breaking through her tears and her whole face lights up.

“What--?” He asks, not sure if he heard her right.

“Stiles. I want you to get up and dance with me in this room full of flowers and lets forget the world exists for a little while.” She states boldly which a resilient look in her eyes.

“But what about class?” He questions, trying to find a way out of her request.

“What about it?” She eggs him on, trying to get him onto his feet.

“But--but there’s no music.” He tries stalling again, trying to think of any other excuse possible.

“Let’s make our own.” She challenges, pulling out her iPhone and the sounds of “Feel Real” By Deptford Goth ebbs through the speaker.

“You don’t give up do you?” He chuckles, reluctantly getting up and fixing her with a devilish smile.

“Not a chance in Hell, Stilinski.” She jabs back and throws in a little wink.

“Okay but the truth is... I don’t know how to dance.” He mumbles nervously, rubbing his sweaty palms against this denim jeans.

She grabs him by the collar of his green Henley, pulling him towards her and grabs his hand into hers, intertwining their fingers while wrapping her other arm around his neck. She leans into him until her nose is grazing his pulse point. “Follow my lead.” She whispers, curling into his arms. He brings his arms protectively around her waist and pulls her into his chest and lays his cheek on top of her head. 

“Now you've got to breathe  
It's only where your feet fell  
People are so cool  
Somebody wants you  
A lover come back,  
I wanna dance like her,  
Like nobody's watching  
But nobody's watching”

Stiles can feel the sparks between their hands crackling like fireworks when skin touches skin. A electric hum whistles around them and Stiles and Malia are absorbed into a shared frequency.

“Forever meant nothing when we had nothing  
Feel real  
Now  
Forever meant nothing when we had nothing”

Malia feels different. With Lydia, she felt as if she was circling back around again, somehow trying to move around her like the planets orbit the sun. Wanting, waiting, and wandering until they would be drawn in closer together. But with Stiles, it was almost an accident. She met him and tripped head first into his orbit like a meteor plummeting to Earth. But Stiles doesn’t see her that way. He sees her more as a fallen star, a wish he never asked for but is so happy he got.

“Even when you know  
Hits you hard,  
Leaves slow, comes back fast  
When you can't take  
You don't swallow your pain  
Been around once  
It'll be around again”

Stiles spins Malia around the floor, flowers falling at their feet. She reaches out and picks up a freesia from the bunch and sticks into his hair so that they match. 

“Forever meant nothing when we had nothing  
Feel real  
Now  
Forever meant nothing when we had nothing”

“Can I ask you something, Stiles?” She requests with curiosity lacing her tone.

“Only if I get to ask you a question, too.” He replies, pulling back and looking down at her easily.

“Deal.” She agrees, sticking out her pinky, waiting to solidify the promise.

“What am I suppose to do with that?” Stiles asks, not familiar with the human custom.

“It’s a pinky promise. We connect them and then the promise is unbreakable so give me your pinky, Stilinski.” She demands with a frisky grin. 

Stiles just laughs and hooks his with hers. “You’re a fiesty, little thing. That’s kind of hot.” He says in an offhanded fashion and outright beams at her reaction. Her mouth forms an ‘O’ shape and she’s gaping like a fish. A cute fish.

He closed her mouth with his index finger. “You’ll catch flies that way. Trust me, they’re gross.” He mocks, loving how she looks like an angry kitten when she’s caught off guard. Malia doesn’t seem like the type that likes not having some semblance of control.

When she regains her thoughts, she finally asks the question that Stiles knows she’s probably been dying to ask him since that morning in his room.

“What happened that made you shift into your coyote form for all those years?” Plain-spoken. Frank. Blunt. Candid. Straight to the point. But of course, that’s just how Malia is.

“Um-well, it all happened the night that-”

To Be Continued.


	5. Unearthing Stiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes darken to an inky black. 
> 
> “Um-well, it all happened the night that-”

Him?   
Peter Hale? As in, the Peter Hale.  
Malia is at a complete loss of words.

Stiles turns away from her, trying to control the deep rumblings in his chest and the dangerous hisses from erupting out of his throat. He bites his tongue, drawing blood. He barely noticed the sharp canines that sprang from his gums. His body begins to shake uncontrollably as he’s brought back to the night that everything changed.  
It was a night like any other night as Stiles rode in the passenger seat of his mother’s car on the way home from seeing his grandmother out of town. His dad couldn’t make it because he got called into work at the last minute, so it was just the two of them. But Stiles didn’t mind, he loved spending quality time with his mother. She grasped his hand in hers over the console and had one hand on the steering wheel. She gave him a small squeeze and looked over at her son. She had always wanted a boy. Her precious Stiles, the light of her life. She only turned her head for a second, but a second can stretch over into it’s own infinity. 

Stiles caught a glimpse of a girl no older than nineteen run across the road, causing them to swerve in panic. They both let out a breath and relaxed at the almost accident when suddenly an wolf-like animal lunged in front of the car.  
“Mom, look out!” Nine year old Stiles screamed at his mother who was unaware of the beast with glowing red eyes that they were about to hit. He could never forget those blood red eyes beaming at him through the windshield. But that’s not all Stiles saw. In the reflection of the glass, he almost faints at the sight of his once brown eyes blazing a proud liquid gold. 

What was that? It had to just be the headlight, right?

Claudia Stilinski was too late. The animal had moved so fast like the speed of sound and there was no time to pound on her breaks. The last thing she saw was her boy reaching out to her. Something told Stiles that he would never be okay again.  
They collided with the beast, causing Claudia to lose control of the wheel and the car went barreling into the water underneath the bridge. Stiles could still see the animal through the cracked window of the car as water began to fill his lungs. It seemed to hesitate for a second, as if it were waiting for something. It just watched him with curious eyes. A scream could be heard. It sounded like a girl. The wolf-like creature was broken out of it’s trance and raced off after the scream.  
He just left, sprinting off after the girl without a name.

Stiles had hit his head pretty hard on the way down and his mother was trying to stay conscious. The car was flooding with water and air was sparse. Claudia beat against the door with the little fight she had left in her, determined to get her baby boy out alive. But Stiles understood, even at his young age. They weren’t getting out. They were going to drown. But he was glad that at least he would be going with his mother. He couldn’t even fathom the idea of living in a world without her, left here to suffer while she’s gone. Stiles stops her movements, laying his small hand on her wrist. She looks over at him with watery eyes and tries her best to comfort him, to prepare him for what was about to happen. But he knew. Stiles had always been an observant child and seemed very in tune with others feelings and emotions. His mom was terrified. He grabs her hand and turns it over palm side up, and traces a heart in the middle of it with his finger tips. His mother would always do that when he would have a nightmare or when she’d go out of town for work and knew she wouldn’t see him for a while. It was their way of telling each other that they loved one another and she smiled because she understood.

Suddenly the window crashed open as it’s busted in by a roguish boy with dark hair and light hazel eyes. He went to help his mother out of the car but she shook her head and pointed to Stiles in the passenger seat, her eyes begging the teenager to save him first. The boy nodded and went over to help Stiles. When he realized what he was doing, Stiles thrashed around violently in his seat. He would go kicking and screaming. The boy looked at Stiles and his eyes flooded with color as blue as the water swallowing them. It wasn’t human. What is he?

What was he doing? It wasn’t suppose to happen like this. He couldn’t leave her. He couldn’t let her die there all alone. He was suppose to be there for her.

“Mom!” Stiles yelled, gulping a mouthful of water. He fought against the strong arms around his shoulders that pulled him closer to the surface and farther away from her. His vision began to blur and his sight was spotty. Black dots appear across his eyes and the car gets smaller and smaller with each passing second that he floats to the top. The boy lays Stiles on the ground and checks his breathing before diving in after his mother. Stiles fights to keep his eyes open. His head is pounding and his body is going into shock from the impact of the car driving off the road and the wet clothes that seep into his skin, leaving him cold to the bone. After a minute or so he sees a head appear above the water, but he can’t make out who it is. His sight is in and out of focus and he finally sees the raven-haired boy again a faint glimpse of brown hair.

“Is she.. Is she okay?” He gasps out. Those were his last words before a sea of black pulls him under.

He wakes up to a blindly white room. White lights. White walls. A white hospital gown.

He’s strapped to a bed by IV’s and different interlocking tubes and Stiles begins to panic. A warm, tan hand pushes him back against the bed when he tries to get up to ask the nurses stationed outside the door about his mom. He looks up and sees those same solemn, hazel eyes that are watching him with caution and... Pity?

“Who are you?” Stiles asked, his chin jutted out defiantly and sharp eyes sizing up the brawny teenager. 

“My name is Derek Hale. Do you remember what happened to you?” He asked hesitantly. His voice was calming and deep. The guy couldn’t be older than maybe 15.  
“You... You were at the accident. My-my mom. What about my mom? Where is she? Is she okay? When can I see her?” Stiles begins firing off questions, ignoring the sympathetic look on the boy’s face.

Derek wouldn’t meet his eyes. That’s not a good sign.

“I should go, your dad is going to be here soon.” He deflects, a gruff attempt to shake off Stiles’ questions.  
“Why won’t you tell me what happened to my mom?” Stiles screams hotly, but his shouts soon turn to warm tears leaking down his face as his bottom lip quivers, trying to hold in his sobs.

“It’s not my place to tell you, I’m sorry, Stiles.” Derek says with his eyes down turned and a small frown digging into the corners of his mouth.

“What about your eyes? What was that? They glowed blue, I saw them.” He accused.

Derek shakes his head in denial. “You don’t know what you saw...” He attempts to placate the young boy who was not much younger than him. Derek had been around the same age when he found out what he was, what his whole family was, in fact.

“Don’t pacify me, I know what I saw... Because I think mine did the same thing. But they were gold.” Stiles admits, scared what this all meant.

Derek walks back over to his bedside and wraps his hand around Stiles’ arm. He shuts his eyes tightly and then they flash open. A brilliant, ethereal blue. He looks down at the brown haired boy and mumbles a quiet prayer. Suddenly the veins of his arm bleed black, inky liquid that travels all the way up to his neck. Derek lets out a pained gasp.

Stiles instantly feels his pain disappear. After a few moments, Derek releases his arm and lets out a gargled breath, aftershocks of pain jolting throughout his body.

“What did you do?” Stiles asks, looking at Derek with wide eyes.

“I took your pain away.” He said simply, fidgeting with the end of his shirt.

“But-but...” Stiles barely manages to get any words out.

Derek shushes him.“Rest. When you’re ready to learn more about yourself, come find me at the Hale house in the woods. I can tell you all about your eyes... And the animal that ran you off the road.” He whispers ominously, making his way to the door.

“Why did you save me?” Stiles questions, his voice fading off to a small whimper.  
“Because... We’re family.”

Before Stiles can respond, Derek closes the door behind him and disappears around the corner.

The Sheriff arrives at the hospital about thirty minutes later. Stiles can hear his strangled sobs and gasps from outside the door. After a few minutes, the whole place goes quiet.  
His dad comes through the door and takes Stiles into his arms. He has dark circles under his red, puffy eyes and tear stains on his cheeks that he tried to cover up.

“Dad, where’s mom?”

The Sheriff gets down on his knees. With shaking movements, he takes Stiles’ face between his hands and brushes the hair out of his eyes.

“She’s- she’s gone son.”

And that was the day Stiles’ heart hardened to a frigid black.

When he was released from the hospital a few days later, he met up with Derek in the woods. He’d come to find out that the girl in the road that day was in fact Derek’s older sister, Laura Hale. She was trying to warn Peter about something when he snapped and attacked her. He was the monster that ran them off the bridge and was responsible for his mother dying. Derek had found Laura’s body mutilated and severed in half the day after he had saved him from the accident. It seems as though they had both lost someone that day. Stiles learned that he was actually adopted and that Peter was his father. And with it, that would make Derek his cousin. It turns out that Peter had his memories wiped by Derek’s mother Talia a long time ago. She wanted to keep Stiles a secret from her brother so he couldn’t corrupt him to the path of wickedness that he chose to go down himself. Peter still did not know about Stiles’ existence because he could never uncover the broken fragments of his mind in those lost memories. Talia had entrusted in Derek to watch over Stiles, to be his shadow and make sure that he didn’t end up like Peter. So he had always known, which means his mother and father had lied to him his whole life. But in a way, he couldn’t resent them. He had two loving parents, lived a great life, and never missed out on a single thing. Talia had ensured his safety and security. He was her nephew after all.

Talia had died not too long ago and her secret along with her. It lived on through Derek. Stiles was never suppose to know of his lineage, but life just fucks you over sometimes.  
Stiles went into a fit of rage when he discovered that Peter had skipped town the night he ran his mother and him off the road. He had planned to confront him and ask him why. Why them? Why did he just stand there? Why didn’t he do something? He should have done something!

Something hungry and volatile grew inside of Stiles. He couldn’t deal with all these emotions and secrets and thirst for revenge. He had to avenge his mother. The day that Derek had told him everything was the very first night Stiles had turned. It was a full moon and he had no control over the monster that thrived inside of him. The boy who was once innocent and happy and kind turned spiteful and reserved and jaded. He killed three people that night, their blood turning to ashes in his mouth. 

A deep self-loathing burned inside of him and Stiles couldn’t change back to his human form. He didn’t know how to deal will with the guilt and the mourning. He didn’t want to. He just wanted to turn it all off. Those gilded eyes shifted to a cold, lifeless blue.

So off he went. He ran through the woods that night and never looked back. But in his mind, he knew he was going to look for Peter. Because he would kill him if it was the last thing he did.

It was Peter that drew him back to Beacon Hills. He had been on his tail for a while now, but he always managed to ghost him, as if he knew Stiles was watching him. He had last caught his scent at the edge of town. That is the whole reason he was here. Stiles hasn’t contacted Derek yet, but he’s sure he more than likely knows he’s back. Derek is always watching and knows Stiles like the back of his hand. I guess that comes with the responsibility of being his shadowed guardian all those years.

“Stiles, you can’t kill him. Scott has a moral code, that’s not what we do.” Malia says gently but firm, looking up at him as they stop dancing.

His eyes darken at the challenge of authority and an uncharacteristic smirk tickles his lips. He feels the blood rushing through his veins and white hot anger hit him hard in the gut. He brushes off her hand and tries to ignore the hurt that flashes across her face.

“You must not have understood me, Malia. Because I wasn’t asking for permission.” He bites out, leaving her there in the greenhouse in shock as he rushes out and disappears down the side of the building.


	6. Can You Let Your Baby Be My Girl?

"Scott, he's going to go after Peter. We have to stop him." Malia sighs, following after him down the hallway.

He turns abruptly, catching her off guard. "Malia, I need you to stay out of this, okay? He runs his fingers anxiously through his hair. "I need to know that you're safe. And I can't feel good about all of this knowing that you're diving headfirst into this mess. Anything involving Peter is not only dangerous, but adding in an unpredictable Stiles is even worse. Especially with the full moon tonight."

Her eyes flash with anger. "You are not leaving me out of this, Scott. We're a pack, we stick together. You need me! I'm the one who got through to him the day we found him, maybe I can bring him back from the edge if he starts to lose himself. We have to help him, and I don't care what you have to say about it. I have to be there for him. We protect those who cannot protect themselves, remember?" She says with conviction, staring him down with no thought of giving in. Scott's face hardens, but inevitably he looks down to meet her gaze. Her eyes soften, pleading with him to respect her choice.

He doesn't say anything for a long time.

"If he touches you, I may have to rethink my morals on killing. And that's not a threat, it's a promise." He says eerily calm, brushing past her shoulder and walking out the doors of the school.

Malia stares after him dumbfounded, still recovering from the ice in his steely voice. If there was one thing that set Scott on edge, it would be Malia's safety. Of course, that includes his mom, the pack, and the town, but she's his constant, his dearest friend. She had been ever since that day on the playground in kindergarden when he was getting bullied by boys a couple grades older than him. They had taken his inhaler and he remembers not being able to breathe. The boys had thought he was faking, but she knew. Malia had came to his defense and punched the one that had his inhaler in the nose and then kicked him in the stomach. She'd helped him through the panic that set in as he began to get lightheaded from the loss of oxygen. He may have died that day if it wasn't for her. And from that day forward, they we're best friends, attached at the hip. And Scott promised to always protect her.

"I'll never let anything happen to you, Mal, I promise." He says as he holds out his pinky for her to take.

"I have a feeling that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Scott McCall." She smirks with a toothy grin and a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She brings her pinky up to his. From that day forward, they were interwoven into each others lives through time and the expanse of trials that would try to rip them apart.

That had been a great day.

She decides to leave it alone for now, but can't shake the creeping feeling going up her spine as she leaves the school. His eyes had been shadowed with something. She would usually chalk it up as protectiveness, but this was something else. She just couldn't put her finger on it.

What's gotten into him?

She heads out the front doors of the school and starts figuring out a plan on how to save Stiles from himself and make him realize that there's another way. Malia knows what it's like to feel alone and angry. The vivid dreams of blood and echoed screams are her nightly reminder.

She spots pale skin and red hair waiting for her just outside the doors: Lydia.

Lydia steps in front of her and gives her a timid smile.

"Malia, hey, how have you been?" The red head rushes out, anxiety and nervousness rolling off of her. Malia still thinks she looks beautiful, though.

"I'm good, Lyds, thanks. I'm just going to look for Stiles." She says, about to move around her when Lydia grabs her hand gently, urging her back. Malia's heart rate spikes annoyingly and she can't help noticing the tingling feeling that shoots up her arm at the contact. Some habits die hard.

She looks down at their intertwined hands and then back up at Lydia's face, focusing a second too long on her cherry lips. Forcing herself to look away and meet her eyes, she catches a flash of emotion in Lydia's expression... Hope."

Lydia coughs to ease the tension and lets go of Malia's hand as hers falls limply to her side. "I-I just, uh- I wanted to warn you about Stiles. He could be dangerous and we don't know that much about him. I try to figure out what he's thinking, but it's hard because he doesn't trust easily. His mind is like a blank wall." She explains cautiously, trying to tread lightly on the subject.

"Well, I mean I see what you're saying, but he's just misunderstood." Malia pauses. "He doesn't trust anyone."

"Well he sure has taken a liking to you..." Lydia mumbles under her breath, not intending for Malia to hear her or to sound so jealous. Even in her own ears, she can hear how bitter she sounds, but she has no reason to be. She doesn't have feelings for Malia, so it shouldn't matter, right? Hell, who is she kidding. Lydia knows when she's lying to herself.

She's the one who put them in this awkward, in-between place. She pushed Malia away, and now she can't help the bile that rises in her throat at the thought of Malia caring about someone else the way she always cared about her.

Malia had always been protective of Lydia. Immensely so.

She was always the first one to object to Lydia taking on any dangerous roles in their plans in the past. She insisted that she come along with her if there was any slight possibility of Lydia getting caught in the cross fire. She's the one who found her at the dance when Peter had attacked her last year. She's the one that told her that while she may not care about what happens to herself, that she would go out of her mind if she died.

Malia had visited her every day in the hospital while she healed, bought her favorite flowers when she got released, and offered her jacket to her when she was cold. Lydia still had that jacket. She sleeps in it something and clings to the lingering smell of vanilla and freesia that is so uniquely Malia. It's only then in the comfort of her own room and alone with her thoughts that Lydia lets herself picture what it would be like to be Malia Tate's girl friend.

She looks back on when they barely knew each other. Lydia had heard whispers of her name before in the hallways and remembered seeing her hanging around her at parties and different school events. But she had never taken notice to her and she has no earthly idea how it was humanly possible to ignore the hurricane of a woman that is Malia Tate. She is so beautiful and caring and loyal and stunningly human. But she's also chaotic and complicated and flawed with an equally crooked heart. It's like there's this tether between them and Lydia can always tell when Malia walks in the room without even having to look up. The air crackles like mini fireworks and she can feel a subtle hum underneath her skin. Excitement courses through her veins and the little voice inside her head whispers temptingly, "Take a chance, Lydia".

What if she made a mistake?

"I don't know, I guess I just calm him down." Malia shrugs, looking down at her shoes. Lydia had this way of almost making her feel ashamed of Stiles trusting her and her, him. What if he's only attracted to her because he senses her darkness too? They're just two broken, fucked up souls that happened to find each other in this labyrinth of suffering that we call life.

"Yeah maybe..." Her voice drifts off until silence hangs over their heads. "Do you need a ride home?" Lydia tacks on at the end, anything to rid them of this painful space between them.

"No, it's okay. I think I'm going to walk. I'll see you tonight at the lake house... Ya know since it's a full moon and everything." Malia rambles out, ready to run and hide from Lydia's penetrating gaze.

"Okay, see you." She says and begins walking off.

"Yeah, see you, Lydia."

 

Later that night, the gang convenes at Lydia's lake house. Liam is just starting to learn control, so they have lock him up where he can't hurt anyone. Scott had went out looking for Stiles, but to no avail. The thought of not knowing where he is began taking a toll on his worries and was making him antsy. He caught himself staring out the window, hoping he'd show up. He feels responsible for Stiles and he'll blame himself if anyone gets killed because he can't control one, lone coyote. Some Alpha he is.

Malia sits in the corner of the room, a crestfallen look on her face. She's wondering what Stiles is doing. If he's safe. If he's still mad at her. She didn't like the way they left things. She runs her fingers through her hair nervously and bites her lip in anticipation, as if Stiles will come storming through that door any second. It may seem weird to the others, but she just can't explain the instant connection they had. She picked up on the vibes Lydia would send her whenever Stiles was around or someone said his name. She'd always been observant to her, more in-tune to her thoughts and feelings then everyone else, besides Scott. Or at least she used to be before they started falling apart from each other. Malia hasn't known Stiles for long, but she can't help but worry about him. Her mind had been firing off a mile a minute and her thoughts keep leading back to him.

"Where are you, Stiles?"

"Malia, can you stop mopping, please? It's really starting to get pathetic." Lydia interrupts the quiet with a frustrated look on her face.

"Oh, here we go. I knew this would happen sooner or later." Allison chimes in, rolling her eyes and taking a seat for the drama that was about to unfold.

"What the hell is bothering you so much, Lydia?" Malia chuckles humorlessly, getting up out of her seat and coming face to face with the first girl she's ever had a crush on.

"Maybe we all just need to sit and calm down..." Isaac starts.

"Shut up, Isaac!" Both girls say simultaneously, and turn back to face each other.

Isaac raises his hands in resignation and shuffles over to the corner of the room and pouts.

"You. You're my problem, Malia. All you've been doing since we found Stiles is involving him in everything. And now you're sitting around acting all upset because he isn't here. You think we don't see the way you look at him? You're running around after him like a lost puppy. It's just sad, you know." Lydia sneers, looking down on her with her nose upturned.

"Well damn, Lydia. Tell me how you really feel. Maybe you're just upset because I'm not kissing the ground you walk on anymore. Maybe you're just jealous because you're not my first priority anymore. Well newsflash, I grew up. You're ashamed of me. You're ashamed of the kiss that happened between us. And you're ashamed of the fact that you might actually have feelings for me and for once in your life you aren't in control of everything." Malia yells back, her eyes blazing with emotion.

Lydia glares at the spot above Malia's head. She wants to refute what she said, but she can't. She can feel herself getting hot all over as her body temperature rises. She doesn't get to do this to her. She doesn't get to unearth every little secret inside her head and lay her bare for everyone to see. So Lydia does the only thing she knows how to do in a situation like this...be a heartless bitch.

And she screams.

"Who could ever love someone as damaged and broken as you!" When the words pass her lips, she instantly regrets them.

The room shakes and everyone ducks at the intensity of Lydia's scream. The windows shatter and the floors creak as they vibrate beneath their feet. Her voice continues to echo through the wind that carries out into the woods around the lake.

Catching the brute strength of the scream, Malia cries out in pain.

Her hair is tangled in glass and there's a cut right above her brow where a stray piece had struck her. Her eyes are glassy with tears as blood oozes down her ears. She can feel a sharp pain in her palms from the broken window on the ground. And there's this burning feeling in her side. She looks down and gasps at the large shard of glass embedded in her side.

Scott rushes over to help her.

"Malia, are you okay! Oh my god, there's a lot of blood. Damnit, Lydia, what did you do!" He roars, his eyes flashing a ruby red.

Lydia cowers in fear and stumbles back into Allison's arms. The brunette brings her into her embrace and strokes her hair and whispers that "it's okay" and "it was an accident", but all the strawberry blonde can see is the lifeless look on Malia's face. She did that. She hurt her, the one person she never wanted to ruin.

"Malia- I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it, I didn't!" She cries, tears streaming down her face.

"No... I think you did." Malia chokes out, blood pouring out of her mouth. Her hands are shaking and there's stars dancing in her line of sight. Her vision is coming in and out of focus so she concentrates on the tiny dots on the ceiling. She begins counting them so she can force herself to stay lucid.

"Malia, hold on for me, okay. Just hold on, I'll take your pain away." Scott pleads, grasping her hand between his strong, tan ones and black veins decorate his arms. He gasps from the pain but squeezes her hand tighter, making himself keep going.

Suddenly the door burst open and a feral looking Stiles begins looking around the room as if he's searching for something, until finally his eyes land on Malia. His eyes are wild and frantic and face goes pale when he sees all the blood.

"What the hell happened!" He growls, stalking towards Scott and pinning him against the wall.

"Stiles... Please, stop." Malia whispers slowly, trying to control her breathing.

Stiles hears her voice. She lays broken and bent on the ground: a beautiful accident. The moonlight from the shattered window glows around her and every ripple in time stills. His gaze lands on the glass in her side and Stiles realizes that he's released Scott and he's now bent over on the ground with her head in his lap. She leans up and lays her hand on his cheek and Stiles moves the stray pieces of hair out of her face and pulls her into his chest. Because of all the things his hands have held, the best by far is her.

"Stiles." She breathes out.

"Malia." He rasps, his eyes full of concern.

"You came back. What are you doing here?" She questions, looking up at him like he's some sort of hero.

"I heard you scream." He says simply. That's all it had took. The thought of her in danger was all the motivation he needed to find her. And looking at her now, you'd think she had hung the stars in the sky.

She looks up at him and smiles. And then her vision fades away until everything goes black.

-To be continued-


	7. Sleep Apnea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song Inspiration: I'll Be Okay By Gin$eng (ft. Velvetears)

Malia's POV: 

I woke up feeling okay.

I rub my eyes and sigh as I stretch the kinks and cramps out of my body. I lift my arms above my head and immediately regret it when I feel a sharp, tugging sensation on my side like undoing an intricate web of threads. I groan in pain and feel sticky blood coat my fingers where I'd managed to pull the stitches out from where the glass had pierced my skin.

"Dammit..." I mutter, as pain erupts in my side.

In all this time I never really realized where I was at. Lights shine heavily above my head in startlingly clarity and the place smells of soap and rubbing alcohol. I notice a piece of white gauze on the tray standing next to the reclined bed I'm currently sitting in and press it against my wound, hoping it will begin clotting quickly.

I hate hospitals.

With a searing passion. Honestly, truly despise them.

I hate the smells. I hate the sounds. I hate the waiting in suspense. But most of all, I hate the feeling of death that surrounds them, as if I'm standing in a graveyard. Hospitals have probably witnessed more broken-hearted prayers and wet tears than any church has in a life time. Hospitals are a place for the disfigured: the fuck-ups, the crooked, the bent. Maybe I belong here.

The click of the door draws my attention and a friendly looking nurse with a cherub face walks over to the bed with a radiant smile. The smile slips off her face into a frown when she sees the blood dripping down my sides and rushes to clean it.

"Oh my dear, what have you done?" She reprimands gently, tabbing the wound with alcohol that causes me to wince.

"I didn't realize there were stitches there. I was stretching and the stitches came out." I groan, looking at the damage.

"Well it may scar, but it shouldn't be too bad. It won't be able to take away from such a pretty face like yours." She says sweetly, trying to make me feel better.

I grin bashfully at her compliment and try to sit still so she can finish cleaning me up. I wonder where everyone else is.

"Nurse McCall will be with you shortly. She'll do a routine check up and fill you in on the details you missed while you were out." The lady states, redressing the wound, removing her sanitary gloves, and leaving me alone to my thoughts.

Seconds could have gone by. Minutes. Hours. I lost track of time falling into my thoughts. Did Lydia really feel that way about me? She had cut me down so deep, so much so that I could feel it in my bones. A deep aching, sadness, rejection. Lydia had somehow managed to make me feel so small, like I didn't even matter in the grand scheme of things. She made me feel like none of their lives would be utterly changed if I just happened to not exist. How does she do that? Make me feel so... Insignificant... Disposable?

Melissa walks in and I turn to look at her.

Dark, curly black hair, smooth russet skin, and warm brown eyes. I see so much of her in Scott and I silently thank her for making such an amazing person. I don't know what I would do without the two of them.

"Hey, honey, how are you feeling?" She asks, placing her hand on my forehead to check my temperature.

"I've been better, I just haven't slept very well. But I think I'd feel much better getting out of this hospital. You think you can pull some strings for me?" I smile cheekily, hoping she'll help me out.

She chuckles. "I know, I know. You hate hospitals and I will try not to take any personal offense to that." She pauses and winks. "But we need to run some more tests on you and make sure you don't have a concussion. We contacted your dad and he should be here soon." Melissa assures with a soothing tone.

I groan. "My dad is probably freaking out, I should call him. You know how he is. Ever since my mom and sister died, he's always somewhat on edge, even if he thinks I don't notice. It's as if he thinks he'll blink and I'll be gone too, that I'll leave him behind." I reminisce, thinking back on the almost-freak outs I've had to talk my way out of.

"He's just worried about you, sweetheart. He loves you so much. You're one of the lucky ones. Some kids have parents that don't care enough about their children. Don't forget that, okay?" She says, smoothing the hair in front of my eyes.

I give a tired sigh. "Thanks... Mom." I yawn, falling back into a dreamless sleep.

 

This time I wake and there's so many eyes watching me: Scott, Stiles, Kira, Allison, Isaac... Lydia.

"Geez, you guys have nothing better to do than to watch me sleep? It's a little creepy." I tease, trying to break the awkward silence that envelops the room.

Allison stepped up first. "We wanted to be here when you woke up. We were really scared here for a while, Malia." She finishes, coming over the side of the bed and squishing me in one her her infamous Allison Argent hugs that only she could provide.

I'd always had a soft spot for Allison. She always listened to me, ya know. She taught me that you don't have to be supernatural to be strong. She'd always been such a free spirit, a warrior, and I wanted to be like her too. But most of all, her heart was wide and open, leaving room for things like love and forgiveness. I had a lot I needed to be forgiven for not too long ago. I know Scott wants to love her pathetically and and hopelessly, and I can only dream that she lets him one day.

Next was Isaac. He ruffled my hair and placed a small kiss on my forehead. He and I have always been able to relate to each other on an intimate level. He came from a broken home, check. Me too. He's experienced grief and knows what it's like to lose a mother. It's like losing a limb and learning how to live again. Sometimes we'll just sit together after a pack meeting or one of their lacrosse game and lean on each other and see how the other is doing. It means so much to the both of us, because we need that, that sense of belonging and knowing that someone else just gets it.

And then Kira. Sweet, beautiful Kira. She stumbles over her words and trips over her own two feet, apologizing profusely afterwards. She gives me a long hug and whispers in my ear how things will get better. She had joined the pack late, but better late then never. She has the kindest soul that you could ever find in a world as corrupt as this one. I try to not let my negativity rub off on her because I need a little bit of her sunshine, sometimes. She's so good, so pure, and I don't think I've ever been more envious of someone in my life.

Suddenly I'm hit with the warmest brown eyes I've ever seen. Only Scott McCall is capable of radiating wholesomeness in a single look. He just looks at me with that vulnerable glint in his eyes and I know that he needs more comforting that I do. So I bring him into my arms and I know that everything is going to be okay. He holds me and I grasp onto his shirt, inhaling his woodsy scent that makes me think of home. My eyes instinctively shut and I'm in a state of bliss. Because no matter where I sleep at night or wherever I may travel in this life, he's never far away. Scott will always be my family. My peace. And my home.

Lydia falters in her steps as she slowly makes her way towards me, her stiletto heels clicking against the white, tile floor. Mascara runs down her eyes to her cheeks and her lipstick is smudged, leaving her naked for me to take in the girl behind the persona. She reaches out to me, but I pull away as if she'd burnt me. I can't look at her right now. I can't look at those eyes, those hands, those lips that had the power to break me. If you want to know how to murder someone, kiss them once and then never again. She did that once, and then she did it again when those words passed her lips. The kiss of death.

Who could ever love someone as damaged and broken as you?

"I just don't want you near me right now." I say, turning my head away from her so she can't meet my eyes.

"Malia- I'm so-" She begins.

Stiles growls from his spot in the corner of the room. His eyes burn a rimy blue, glazed and frosted over in a clear warning.

"She said she doesn't want to see you, so back the fuck up." He hisses, his sharp canines elongated to a lethal point. His stance is intimidating as he towers over her height, his chin held high right above the crown of her strawberry blonde head.

But Lydia doesn't back down.

She pokes him in the chest. "You haven't known her as long as the rest of us. What gives you the right to bark orders like a damn dog and think that you can push me around. Look sweetheart, I know you have a raging hard on for her, but listen up, I don't scare easily." She finishes, glaring up at him.

Stiles balks at her retort and lets out a devious laugh: long, slow, and drawn out to the point where anyone else listening would think he's insane.

"Is someone a little upset because I came in and saw Malia for who she was all along? I didn't need to know her for months or years to know that you guys take her for granted. I didn't have to be around her for long to know that her laugh is infectious or that she's absolutely fucking beautiful, or even that she has a demon walking around in her head. But you should of known. It didn't take a kiss to have me gravitating to her, to trip into her orbit."

He pauses and gets up in her face.

"Do you remember it, Lydia? Did your body memorize and store away all the feelings you told it to forget? The sensation of her lips? The feel of her hand? The coolness of her breath?"

He twirls a strawberry blonde lock between his finger and chuckles darkly at the way her body shivers involuntarily.

"No, you see, that's where you're wrong Lydia. I can go around barking orders because I want what's best for her. And you know what's so sad? You had her. She wanted you, loved you even, but you couldn't get out of your own way. You were too far up your own pretentious ass, so far behind the curve... That you thought you were first." He concludes, peering at her with false sympathy and a crooked smile of pearly white teeth.

"Enough, you two! Can you guys give me a minute alone with Stiles, please?" I ask, except it's not really a request, but an order.

Scott looks over at me. "You sure, 'Lia?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. He'd never hurt me." I say with finality, looking towards the door with a nod of my head.

And I can't help but notice the way Lydia flinches at the certainty in my voice when I show my trust in Stiles. He wouldn't hurt me, but she would.

Everyone exits the room one by one and Lydia lingers by the door for just a moment longer. I stare right past her with a blank expression as if there was no one there at all. Her shoes squeak against the floor as she turns on her heel and rushes out of the room.

Stiles moves the closest chair to the side of the bed and grabs my hand in between his warm ones and brings them up to his lips.

"You didn't have to say all that, you know. I can handle Lydia." I started off, getting distracted by the moles that form an mini constellation on his cheek.

"I know, but I wanted to. She doesn't get to talk to you, not if you don't want her to. I know what she said, Malia. And it's pretty fucked up, and not true at all."

"But what if it is? What if I am too broken for anyone to ever love me?" I ponder with a whimper that is uncharacteristic of me. I don't like others seeing me vulnerable. I hate feeling weak.

"That's impossible. Don't you realize who you are, Malia?" He asks dumbfounded, as if the answer is so obvious.

"I'm just me. And it feels like that isn't enough sometimes." I confess, squeezing his hand harder.

He rubs his thumb over my knuckles and he laughs. A genuine, jovial laugh.

"It's so much more than that and I can't believe you don't see it. You're... A sweet disposition. You're energy and atoms and particles and magic. You're broken, yes. But you're broken fragments. Fragments of galaxies that spiral in and out of consciousness. They're in your eyes, you know. You're warm and you're kind. And you're brazenly blunt and enigmatic. You're sexy and you're free. You're also human, all stardust and wobbly knees. That is more than enough. Don't you get it?" His eyes demand. He's looking at me as if he's searching for understanding there. He wants to know if I'm accepting what he's saying as fact, if I believe him.

And I do.

I press all my weight into him and melt in his arms. This is where I want to be, right here with a boy that doesn't see me as a blank canvas, but as a muse. And he is the artist just waiting to fill me with color.

"Can you take me somewhere?" I whisper in his ear, my lips gliding against his earlobe.

He chuckles nervously and blushes. "Yeah... Yeah I think I know a place." His caramel eyes light up in excitement. He's careful to pick me up and whisks me away through the window. No one even has to know that we're gone.

He carries me bridal style and runs all the way to an unknown destination. Well, unknown to me considering it's dark outside and I don't exactly have supernatural senses to tell me where everything is.

A burst of euphoria sends shivers down my spin as the anticipation begins to build and the wind whips through my hair.

We pass so many trees on a path that seems endless and gray skies stretch on for miles. Stiles starts to slow until his medium jog turns into a tireless walk. In the crevice between the underbrush lies a den covered in moss, twigs, and leaves. Next to it there's an old quilt littered with dirt and a rusty old bicycle.

He sets me down on the ground and takes a seat beside me. I immediately shake from the cold, but try not to be too obvious about it. I can't help it that I'm naturally cold-natured. Stiles sports an amused grin as he shrugs off his hoodie and puts it over my head and helps me maneuver my arms through the holes. I mouth a silent thank you and smile at his thoughtfulness.

"So where were you the other night when I got hurt? You must have been somewhat close if you heard me." I question casually, but deep down I really wanted to know.

Stiles opens his mouth to speak but then closes it again, probably deciding how much he wants to tell me.

"Well... I went looking for Peter." He says simply, but without regret.

"And..." I press, needing to know what else happened.

"And... I found him." He finishes with a look on his face that was meant to officially end the conversation. However, I've never been good at catching hints or respecting personal boundaries, so I further my questioning.

"Did you kill him, Stiles?"

A pregnant pause disrupts the friendly atmosphere and Stiles doesn't say anything.

I grab his chin between my fingers and turn him to face me.

"Try to remember that I had a Nogitsune take over my body that terrorized my friends and killed a ton of innocent people. You're not the only one with blood on your hands. I won't judge, promise." I vow, holding his gaze so he knows I'm serious.

The corner of his lips upturn in a ghost of a smile. "Thanks, Malia."

"I didn't kill him. I wanted to so bad. I had been tailing him for a while and finally caught him in a clearing north of here. He didn't even know who I was, can you believe that? But at least I had the element of surprise on my side. I remember shouting questions at him, so many accusations and strangled words that I could barely get out of my throat. I guess I never really thought about what it would be like to be in front of him, to be able to look him in the eye and put a face to my mother's killer. I thought I'd be satisfied, but I just felt cold."

"I was about to tell him who I was, explain to him what that means and how he ruined my life in a matter of seconds. I was ready to shout and scream and claw him to pieces and tear out his throat with my teeth. I was going to give in to the monster. I'd deal with the aftermath later. I'd thought about leaving town afterwards. I thought of it all. I was going to leave Derek a letter, and you... I was going to wait until you were sleeping and say goodbye then. I knew that if you were awake, there was no way I could have just walked away from you. I'm a coward, I know." He admits, retreating into himself with shame.

"Why did you stop?"

"I told you. I heard you scream. It's all I could think about. I had Peter in my grasps. All I needed was to deliver one final blow and I'd have everything I'd ever wanted, revenge. But I couldn't ignore you. You sounded like you were in so much pain and your scream whistled through the wind and echoed off the trees. I couldn't be selfish with you. You were what mattered in that moment. Not vengeance, spite, or hate.

You. You mattered.

"So I had to grit my teeth and deal with it. I reluctantly let him go and came looking for you. That's when I found you in Lydia's lakehouse with glass protruding from your side. I'd never been more scared in my life. I was terrified that the last words I would have ever said to you would be from the greenhouse." Stiles confesses, shaking his head and getting misty eyed just thinking about the possibly of a world without her.

 

Third Person POV:

They sit together for a little while longer before he has to take her back to the hospital. Their skin prickles as their hands lay parallel to each other, but don't actually make contact. Malia has come to appreciate the electric hum that vibrates through her veins at the intimacy of the almost touch. They laugh about trivial things and lay together on the beat up old blanket as they look up at the sky. And in the ruins of the stars, he was a moonless charcoal and she was a saturated sunrise. With unsteady breaths and shining eyes, she wonders if he feels like his life was as off as hers, remembering a time when they were without each other.


	8. Drops of Jupiter in Her Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song Inspiration: "The Beach" By The Neighbourhood

Malia's POV:

Five missed calls from Lydia. Nine texts. Two voice mails.

I don't even take the time to read them before I delete each one with a tap of a button.  
My dad had came rushing into the hospital around half an hour after Stiles had dropped me back off. I still cling to his sweater, inhaling his scent as I wrap myself tighter into it's warm depths. I might miss him a little bit.

My dad had been caught up in hysterics, checking over my injuries and shedding tears one by one as they landed on my shoulder. I rubbed his back and soothed him with promises that I was fine and that I was still here with him. I always would be.  
"Dad, I'm going to be fine. Melissa said so herself, just a few scraps and at worst, a scar. You have nothing to worry about, I'm not going anywhere." I reassured him with my small hands cupping the sides of his face. His scruffy beard tickles my fingers and I think back on how I would do the same thing when I was a little girl and dad would have one of these freak out moments.

"Honey, you can't keep doing this to me. I'm old and fortunately have never experienced a heart attack, but you're a danger magnet and my time is ticking." He chuckles through his tears and looks me over once more.

"I'm sorry I scared you, I'll try to be more careful." I pacify him, giving him a small smile and his hand a tight squeeze.

"You always say that, kid. But then something else happens and I don't know what to think. You and your friends are always caught up in something and it's beginning to worry me. Is there something you want to tell me, Malia?" He questions, his laser eyes seeing straight through my bravado.

I attempt to dodge his line of questioning. It's best if he didn't know. Because if he found out, other secrets I've tried to stay buried would inevitably bubble to the surface. Dad thinks I'm just his little baby girl, and it has to stay that way. I reason with myself that it's simply to protect him. But the voice inside my head knows the real reason.

"You don't want him to know the true monster that you really are. What would dear old daddy do if he knew how much blood those hands have spilled?"

"Dad, you worry too much. Can't you just be happy that I'm okay? I'm here, that's all that matters." I sigh in exasperation while running my fingers through my hair.

He reluctantly drops the subject and escorts me to the car after whispering to Melissa behind the reception desk , their eyes shooting to me every so often. He ends the conversation and gives her a big hug and thanks her again for taking care of me. I stop by them and can't help grinning ear to ear when Melissa pulls me into one of her bear hugs as well, the three of us huddled together like a little family. If only Scott was here too.

She shoos us out of the doors and fusses about making sure I change the gauze on my wound every three hours and if I needed anything to not hesitate to call her. Melissa is so kind-hearted and compassionate. She is a great nurse, but she was destined to be a mom.

Dad and I exit the hospital and huddle into his truck as the rain pelts our skin. I pull Stiles' hoodie closer, urging myself to drown in it. My wet hair sticks to my neck and the chill of the rain makes me shiver. I crank up the heat and rub my hands together as I blow on them to keep them warm. The car is starting to feel toasty and welcoming as we take off down the road.

"Hey baby girl, how about we stop over at Millie's Diner and order a bunch of pancakes and hot chocolate, ya know like old times? I'm sure Angie and all the other waitresses up there would love to see you." Dad suggests with a hopeful glint in his eye.

I chuckle at his enthusiasm. "That would be great, dad." I grin, leaning my head on his shoulder as we go through the light. It's moments like these that I appreciate this little life I have and realize how much I take it for granted. I have the greatest dad in the whole world. He never wanted me to miss out on a thing. He was that dad that would stay up and watch bad chick flicks with me when I was feeling sorry for myself over Lydia, left little notes in my lunchbox all throughout my angsty teenage years when he'd send me off to school in the morning, and even took me to the mother-daughter dance in elementary school when all the other girls made fun of me because I didn't have a mother anymore. He charmingly swung me around the dance floor and made all the soccer moms in the area swoon with his cuff-links and purple bowtie that matched my dress.  
We continue on along the road, jamming out to "Here Comes Your Man" by the Pixies. I'm in the middle of a mean air guitar solo and dad is belting out the lyrics. My gums ache from smiling and my stomach clenches from laughing so hard. Every little thing is perfect about tonight and I wouldn't trade this for anything else in the world. We pull up into the parking lot of Millie's and I grab my earphones and ipod for dad and I to listen to while were inside. Yeah, were the type that same-side it and split the pair of earphones down the middle, one for each of us.

Dad is still trying to bust a move as he gets out of the car and swings me around in circles, catching me in the crook of his arm and proceeds to walk me into the restaurant. We're joking, laughing, and having a good time when all of a sudden I hit something hard. Oops, it's a person.

It's Stiles.

I try to hide the mischievous smile on my face so my dad doesn't notice. I had just seen him a measly 4 hours ago and I can't help but get giddy at getting to see him again so soon. "Hey Stiles, what are you doing here?"

He looks just as surprised to see me. "Malia, hey. I'm just here with my dad. He loves this place and said they whip up some mean pancakes." He turns and notices my dad standing behind me who's looking at him with curiosity. "Hi, I'm Stiles. You must be Mr. Tate, it's really great to meet you, Sir." Stiles manages to get out, shaking his hand nervously.

"Oh, you're John's boy? Well welcome home, son. I heard a little about you, small town and all. But I'd love to get to know you since you seem to be a friend of my little Malia, here." He chuckles, ruffling my hair affectionately. I groan. Oh god, my dad can be so embarrassing sometimes. "Why don't you and your dad join us? I know the best booth in the house."

"Sounds great, thank you Mr. Tate. My dad just went to the bathroom, he should be out in a minute." Stiles stutters out, anxious to be sitting down with Malia and her father. He really wanted to make a good first impression. But who is he kidding, he's all lanky and awkward and he's pretty sure Mr. Tate could smell his fear.

Mr. Tate grins internally at the boy's nervousness. He can sense Malia's dread beside him and he can't help thinking how much fun it's going to be to mess with these two. It's obvious they have a thing for each other. But he wants to gauge just how much.

"Oh and son, call me Henry." He smiles and winks, gesturing them over to a corner booth in the back of the diner.

Third Person POV:

Stiles and Malia follow behind her dad, stealing looks at each other as they sit down. Stiles can feel Mr- Henry's eyes on him and fidgets anxiously in his seat.

"Henry, good to see you. What a surprise it is running into you here." Sheriff Stilinski says good-naturedly with a friendly clap to Mr. Tate's back before he casts his eyes to Malia sitting beside him. "Malia, we've missed you around the house. I asked Stiles when you were coming by again but he just ignores me. You know how teenagers are." He says, sharing an all-knowing look with Henry.

"Hey there Sheriff, I asked your son if you'll would like to join us. Malia and I used to come here all the time and we ran into Stiles here when we walked in. Well, Malia literally ran into him." Mr. Tate says, making conversation as John slides into the booth next to Stiles.

"She probably spooked the poor boy. He was always scared of pretty girls." The Sheriff whispers lowly, but loud enough for Stiles to duck his head at the jab.

"Really dad?" Stiles guffaws, chuckling lightly at his dad's joke.

"Sorry son, I call them like I see them." He shrugs and puts his arm around Stiles' shoulder, giving him a good shake.

Malia blushes lightly at the compliment and is aware of Stiles looking at her. She turns her head and catches his eyes, smiling at him with a quirk of her lips. This doesn't go unnoticed by the two dads in the room. Mr. Tate didn't know much about the young Stilinski boy, but he can tell that he cares about his daughter.

The Sheriff had always been fond of Malia. She found his son and brought him home, something he thought would only ever happen in his dreams. He used to lay awake at night wondering if his boy was alive. And if he was healthy? What was he doing? Was he okay? Was he happy? Those thoughts ran through his head like a freight train until he couldn't take the wondering anymore. And then one day that seemed like any other, he got a knock on his front door. There he saw a boy: moles, dark hair, rigid posture, a look of wonder on his face, and those same brown eyes that haunted his dreams. He had known who he was without him having to say anything. Malia gave John his life back. And he couldn't think of anyone better for Stiles, he loved her already.

The older waitress Angie came by and took their orders, bringing them all steaming mugs of hot chocolate and stacks of pancakes. Malia stares at the checkered wallpaper and the antique rolling chairs that surround the bar area. She did that sometimes, drift off into space until something pulled her back. Stiles grabs her hand from underneath the booth and it molds to his perfectly. Their dads are chatting it up and getting along swimmingly. They are actually planning a fishing trip together for the next weekend and Henry had offered to take a look at the Sheriff's car, free of charge. Surprisingly, they had even slurped down a few beers at the bar.

They walk back over to the two, intoxication be damned. Like Malia, her dad has zero filter and slurs out the first thing that pops into his head.

"So Stiles, what are your intentions with my daughter?" He asks with a voice that was supposed to come off serious and intimidating, but failed to have that effect due to the drunken hiccups and smile on his face.

"Dad, I think you've had too much to drink..." Malia giggles, getting up to steady him. He'd always been a light weight, which was ironic, considering she could drink more than a guy twice her size and feel fine. It took the good stuff to get her really feeling herself. She remembers making a bet with a frat guy from the local college. They agreed that if he could drink more than her without throwing up, he could have her number. Unfortunately, as the liquor was flowing, frat boy got way too handsy which earned him a black eye and Malia a bruised hand from where she punched him n the face for touching her ass.

"No, it's okay Malia. I don't mind telling him. Henry, I don't know much about girls, but I do know that your daughter is the most selfless, beautiful person I've ever met. I want to learn from her and have her teach me all about cars, while simultaneously bruising my ego because she knows more than me." He chuckles. " And I want to take her on dates, show her that she's special. The whole thing, pick her up from your house and sweat bullets making sure I get her back on time. And I wouldn't mind listening to all her ideas and random thoughts because I like hearing what she has to say... About almost anything. And I want to hold her hand and if she'll have me, one day call her my girlfriend. If that's okay with you, Mr. Tate." Stiles states smoothly, more confident than he had been the entire night.

Malia wears a shocked look and a pretty smile lights up her face.

Mr. Tate stumbles over to Stiles and shakes his hand. "Well alright then, son. Don't make me regret liking you." He says, chuckling at this boy's easy charisma that totally won him over. Maybe he could be good for her.

They all say goodbye and part ways as the two teens help their fathers out to their cars.

Stiles pulls Malia over before he gets in the car and whispers in her ear, "Leave your window unlocked. Our first date starts tonight." He smirks devilishly and wiggles his eyebrows, causing her to laugh at his silliness.

"See you soon then?" Malia questions, giving him a flirty once over as she walks backwards to her car.

"You won't even have time to miss me." He jokes, puckering his lips in a kissy face.

"Somehow I find that hard to believe." She shouts back across the parking lot, opening the door to the truck.

"Yeah well... You know what, I'm going to stop talking because I'll see you later. So stop distracting me with your cuteness, I have to drive and that's a challenge within itself." He yells back, loving the smirk that dances across her face at his comment.

Malia closes the door and sighs as she sits back against the headrest and sets her combat boots on the dash.

"You like him a lot, don't you sweetheart?" Her dad asks, trying to hide his smile.

"Shut up, dad." Malia laughs, punching him in the shoulder.

"Ouch, don't have to be so aggressive. I'm just wondering, you know as a concerned father and all." He retorts, loving how his observation got under her skin.  
Malia just laughs off his comment and drives them back to the house.

She rushes up the stairs and throws on her vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt, some comfy leggings and her converse sneakers. Pulling her hair up into a makeshift bun, she then swipes a coat of strawberry chap stick on her lips because she knows how much Stiles likes it. She grabs his hoodie and ties it around her waist, flopping back on her bed. She can't help the butterflies that consume her as she waits for him to show up.

A few minutes later a knock on the window captures her attention as she sees it begin to lift up and a bright-eyed Stiles staggers through the opening.

His eyes bug out of his head. "You look pretty." He says as soon as he sees her, enjoying the way her shirt falls past her collarbones and her hair is pulled up, exposing her long neck. In the same second, he whips out a flower that he had been hiding behind his back.

"A wild flower for a wild woman." He says as an explanation, tucking it behind her ear and his hand lingers a little longer on the back of her neck.

She looks up at his lips and instantly wants to kiss him. His eyes follow hers and he admires her with hooded lids and pink cheeks. She leans up on her tip toes and the corner of her mouth brushes his.

"We should go." She whispers in a husky murmur, her lips parted in a such a way that she always seems to be catching her breath around him.

Stiles lets out the air he had been holding and helps her out of the window, jumping to the ground with her on his back.

"So yeah, I'm not the best driver yet so I figured that I like you enough that I don't want to kill you, so we're going sight seeing via... my bike."

Malia tries to keep a straight face. She really does, but she can't contain it for too long before she starts laughing loudly, a little snort escaping here and there.  
What a dork.

However, Stiles isn't disheartened by her amusement and plops down on the seat.

"Come hop on my handle bars, baby." He says with a goofy expression.

Malia skips over to the bike and Stiles' eyes are glued to her long, tan legs that wrap around the front of his bike.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Stilinski." He mutters to himself, pushing on the petals and taking off down the endless stretch of road. The dirt path kicks up sand in their faces but Malia doesn't seem to mind as she dangles her legs off the end and swings them back and forth as they ride along.

His hands clench around the ends of the handle bars but his fingertips brush her hips, leaving a tingling sensation hot against Malia's skin. She can feel his touch through the fabric of her shirt and now she can't stop thinking about his hands and how she wants him to touch her more.

She pulls out her ipod and presses shuffle, just as "Fake Plastic Trees" By Radiohead fills the air with it's forlorn beauty. The music picks up and Stiles begins pedaling faster. They rush through the canopy of trees and the moon peaks through the openings, making abstract shapes of light on their faces as they look up at the sky.

"She looks like the real thing  
She tastes like the real thing  
My fake plastic love" 

Malia turns her head and gazes down on him, her eyes and mouth are the only things visible as the light outlines them. Her eyelashes weep black around almond shaped eyes that burn a bright sienna, always stunning him with the dreamy look that lives inside them. She's his dream girl, a shout into the void. She is vibrant and alluring, a taste of the finest wine. And little by little she opened her wings, becoming the very thing that she never thought she could be: free. And he knew it without a doubt in his mind, he was falling for her.

"But I can't help the feeling  
I could blow through the ceiling  
If I just turn and run"

They could just run. They could leave and touch every nook and cranny of this earth. They could do it, just turn and run.

They stop at a stream that's surrounded by fireflies and the dewy grass kisses their feet. Stiles rests the bike against a nearby tree and watches her from a distance.  
It's common knowledge that Malia Tate has a rebellious streak. She combined a mean angel and a kind devil. Her peers didn't understand her, she is an anomaly in her own right. And she had this way about her that was magnetic, a thing about her that you just couldn't put your finger on, but deserved to make a big deal about itself. It was damning and maddening trying to figure her out.

"And it wears me out  
It wears me out  
It wears me out  
It wears me out"

Her brown hair falls in loose strands around her face and she sits with nature as if she's a part of it. In that same instance, she removes her shirt and leggings and stands in a casual stance in just her little black bra and cheeky underwear that leaves absolutely nothing to Stiles' imagination.

And he stares.  
Duh, of course he stares.  
He's an ass man, remember?

"You coming in?" She asks with an air of nonchalance as if she isn't standing practically naked in front of him.

"I-uh-you..uh- go ahead, I'll be in right after you." He rambles out, tripping over his words as his tongue ties in knots.

She smirks impishly at the shyness in his tone and jumps into the water, making a huge splash as she goes down.

Stiles stands frozen in place. Is this real life? Is this actually happening right now?

He sheds his shirt and goes to get in when she notes, "I think you're wearing too many clothes, Stiles. You don't want your pants to get wet, you'll freeze on the way back."

He takes in her appearance, skin glistening with beads of water that also clings to her lashes. The stream ripples around her. Stiles can't help thinking that meeting Malia Tate might turn out to be his greatest adventure. She's just an artless wonder, a literary masterpiece. A ravenous spirit and all of this enchantment belonging to one girl.

"And if I could be who you wanted  
If I could be who you wanted  
All the time  
All the time"

He finally gets in and she splashes him instantly, tackling him underwater and molding together.

"Oh, you're going to get it, Tate." He growls playfully, launching at her and spins her around with his arms around her waist.

"Ah, put me down, you cheater! No supernatural strength!" She squeals, having more fun than she has in a long time.

Her arms circle around his neck and somehow every movement goes quiet and it's just her and him. Her breath quickens when his hands crawl up her back, pressing against the nape of her neck and she can't take the tension anymore.

"Oh, fuck it."

She launches her body into his and her lips touch his in a searing, hot kiss. And there's nothing sweet about it. Their tongues clash together like an epic conundrum and her lips are like velvet when Stiles sucks her bottom one between his teeth, rough and smooth all at once. They bump noses as their kisses become softer and tamed. He leaves little pecks again and again, thirsting for more of her. Their foreheads touch in feverish excitement, that feeling going all the way down to their toes. Their breathing falls in sync and Stiles pulls her in for once last kiss.

He can't keep his eyes off her and she wonders what he sees when he looks at her. He is in her veins now, coasting through her bloodstream like how cerise and azure bleed together into a tempered violet. Hell, she could feel him closer than that, swimming behind her eyes, making a home in her dreams. She could sense him in her bones, mending them stitch by stitch. And then she knew, she was falling for him, too.

It was almost tragic in the way the everything aligned, because if not so absorbed in each other, they might have seen the pair of red eyes watching them from a far.


	9. Boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song Inspiration: Memo by Years & Years

It's strange to consider the idea that there are some people that can leave you reeling, aching, thrumming for just a single piece of them. You find that you miss the feeling of their hands, the plushness of their lips, or the brush of their shoulder walking next to you. And there's this gnawing feeling that pulses through your fingers like an itch that you can't scratch, that finds magnificence in the art of them. You find wonder in the things that you yearn to understand. And yet, some things are inexplicable. Stiles considers Malia to be one of those things.

He thinks back to their kiss and how their mouths clashed in an unyielding battle of teeth and tongue and the way she nibbled on his bottom lip, leaving little bite marks in the process. Malia is feisty and insatiable which easily became one of his favorite things about her. Stiles can't stop smiling at the memory of it. The funniest part was when he took her home with her clothes all rumpled and her hair wild, and her dad catching them trying to sneak back in undetected.

Mr. Tate sat promptly on the couch staring at his watch as Malia flitted through the door. He remembers hearing an offhanded comment about how if she was going to try to sneak back in, the least she could do was invite her boy friend in for some hot chocolate and scrabble. So that's precisely what they did. The rest of the night consisted of Malia, himself, and Mr. Tate huddled around the coffee table in the living room sipping on hot chocolate and playing multiple games of scrabble. And the whole time, Henry teased them about their lack of stealth and craftiness when it comes to breaking and entering.

"What kind of teenagers are you guys? You can't even sneak out properly. I may be old, but I'm not deaf... So, did you guys kiss?" Mr. Tate asked nosily, grinning evilly when Stiles chokes on his hot chocolate, burning his throat. Malia laughs loudly, going to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. Stiles splutters and coughs, smiling nervously when Mr. Tate gives him a pat on the back and grips his shoulders between his strong hands.

"Oh don't worry son, I won't shoot you. Not today at least. My baby girl likes you and for some reason I do too. And I'd hate to explain to your cop father why I had to kill you, whether that be from my gun over there or running you over with my 96' Impala. That would put a damper on our fishing trip this weekend." He jokes, loving giving the boy a hard time. Stiles takes it like a champ and even gives him some shit back which Mr. Tate finds himself respecting all the more.

"Oh Stiles, did I forget to mention that my dad has no filter and that he's kind of a smartass? He basically says what he wants so I'd just get used to that." She smirks, wiping some chocolate from the corner of his mouth and licking it off her finger when her father isn't looking. Stiles could feel his cheeks turning red and Malia just smiles deviously at this reaction.

They switch between board games and cards until the two men in the room eventually catch on to Malia cheating, however, she denies their claims with cheekiness in her tone.  
"It's not cheating if you don't get caught." She shrugs, wiggling her eyebrows with her cards covering the bottom part of her face.

Henry had invited Stiles to stay the night on the couch, considering it was 3 in the morning and him and Malia had school tomorrow. What kind of man would he be to send the poor boy out in the cold with just the clothes on his back and that bike he's got? Henry remembers chuckling to himself when he caught a peek of the boy and his daughter riding off into the night on that dinky little bike through the blinds of the window. He retired to go to bed and gave Malia a kiss on her cheek, also wishing Stiles a good night.

Malia brought Stiles her favorite wool blanket and a couple pillows for him to sleep with. He shot his dad a quick text to let him know where he was so he wouldn't be worried when he wasn't there in the morning.

"You going to be okay down here by yourself?" Malia asked concerned.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I'll miss you, though." He says easily, kissing her forehead and running his thumb over her knuckles.

"I had a lot of fun with you tonight, Stiles." She admits with a sheepish grin, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him into a long, hot kiss.

Stiles deepens the kiss and muses her hair as he runs his fingers through it. She finally pulls away and he feels the loss of her warmth immediately. Just as she turns to leave, he grabs her wrist and lays another sloppy, wet kiss on her lips and smiles dumbly at the heart eyes she gives him.

"I just needed to kiss you one more time, sorry." He confesses with a yawn, not even sorry in the slightest, before settling himself into the couch. He waits for her to make her way upstairs.

She bites her lip and her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks."You can kiss me whenever you want." She replies confidently, looking at him with wolfish eyes. "I'm yours."

His breath catches in his throat and a primal urge erupts inside his chest. The want to mark her, devour her, drink up every ounce of those long, gorgeous legs while wrapping them around his waist, and claim her as his is strong and palpable. He stares at her with furrowed brows and predatory eyes and stalks towards her, leaving her feeling naked in front of him.

"Say it again." He urges, hell, almost begs. "I need to hear you say it again."

She grabs his face between her soft hands and traces the outline of his lips with the tip of her finger. "I'm yours, Stiles. I'm yours." She reiterates, her breath hot against his mouth and tickles his neck. His breath gets heavy and he takes in her words, rolling them around in his head.

"Again." He commands gently, running his fingers over her purple-hued eyelids.

"I'm yours. I'm your fucking girl, so you are kind of stuck with me." It was the closest thing to 'I love you' that Malia had ever spoken. It was festering beneath her skin. Not quite there yet, but not far behind, either.

"Does this mean I can call you my girlfriend now?" He asks heatedly with a splash of playfulness, nipping at the sensitive skin at the slope of her neck.

"You can all me anything you want, as long as I get to call you mine every day." She admits, loving the satisfied smirk on his face at her answer.

"Alright, I can work with that." He agrees, turning her hand over and kissing her palm gingerly before letting go and moving back over to the couch.

"I'll see you in the morning." She murmurs, making her way to the stairs in her cheeky pajama shorts and tiny tank top.

Stiles eyes follow her up the steps, just to make sure she gets to her room in one piece. It's his natural instincts kicking in, always so protective when it comes to her.

The next morning, Stiles leans against his locker. He catches a whiff of vanilla and looks up as Malia's willowy figure comes into his line of sight. She's walking with Scott and Kira, reminiscing about something or another that he hadn't been around for. Her brown hair falls in loose waves and she walks with a giddiness in her step.

My girl friend is so damn gorgeous.

The trio spots him lingering near his locker and make there way over to him. Malia immediately grabs his hand and gives it a tight squeeze. She hasn't exactly gotten around to telling Scott all that had been going on between her and Stiles. She was hoping he would just catch the hint without her having to say anything. She's been worried that he wouldn't approve.

Scott and Kira stare dubiously at their intertwined hands and then share a look with each other that finally turns into matching grins.

"So... Is this thing like official now?" Scott asks, gesturing to their hands.

"Yeah, it is." Malia says boldly, ready to defend Stiles if the situation arose.

But Scott surprises her. "I'm... really happy for you guys." He says honestly, pulling Malia into a tight hug. To Stiles' shock, Scott claps him on the back and and throws his arm around him in a bro-hug, giving him a warm smile. Stiles can feel his genuine gladness for them. And he can't help the small smile that sweeps across his face as he leans into the hug. Maybe he would be okay with these guys after all. Maybe they could be his family one day.

The four of them make their way to lunch and meet up with Allison, Isaac, and Lydia who already have a table. There's two spots between Allison and Isaac. Malia sits by her and Isaac offers Stiles a seat, pulling out the chair for him and gesturing for him to sit with a friendly smile. Stiles stutters a quick thanks and takes a seat in the chair, looking around at all the faces at the table. Malia and Allison are already deep in conversation, talking about some plans they had made this weekend. Scott and Lydia whisper back and forth, her eyes flitting to Malia every so often. Stiles tries to suppress his growl at the instant possessiveness that washes over him. She shouldn't be looking at Malia, not after all the things she said to her.

She's mine.

Stiles knows he's overreacting and fully acknowledges that yes, Malia is his girlfriend, but she's not his possession. And he doesn't mean to treat her like one. He just can't control the raging jealously that courses through him when Malia and Lydia are even in the same vicinity. He finds himself being more alert, way more aware of the two of them and over-analyzing the interaction between them. Insecurity lives in the huddled corners of his mind and his wolf side whispers words of doubt into his head, telling him to get rid of the threat. But Stiles would never do that. Lydia may not be his favorite person, he'd even go as far as to say that he simply does not like her. However, he doesn't wish to hurt her. And Malia would never forgive him if he did.

As if Scott can read his thoughts, he turns to him and his face softens in sympathy. He gives him a look, flashing his red eyes inconspicuously where the others can't see and mouths that he'll explain later. The silent command of his alpha calms him slightly and he's able to stop the irritated tapping of his fingers against this thigh. He gives Scott a stiff nod in reply, letting him know he understands and falls back into the chair, grabbing Malia's hand from beneath the table. The coolness of her fingers makes him feel better and the anger from before dissipates into thin air. He knows he has no reason to be threatened by Lydia Martin, but something inside him can tell that she isn't one to give up easily. He trusts Malia, but not her... not yet.

The gang stuffs their faces with food, unbeknownst of the exchange between him and Scott, and chats animatedly about doing something together that night as a pack. Everyone is throwing out ideas. Stiles tries to listen and participate in the conversation, but he is too distracted by the goosebumps springing up on his skin. It's a little cold in the cafeteria and Stiles' body betrays him by shivering. Isaac notices his discomfort and offers him his scarf, wrapping it around his neck before he can protest.

"Ah man, you didn't have to do that. I'm used to being cold, I just can't ever seem to get warm." He says timidly, trying to make conversation. He wasn't used to having to interact with people, but these guys accepted him into their pack. The least he could do is try to be a friend to them.

"It's no problem, dude. I have a sweater in my locker. Besides, I'm pretty warm-natured. You should keep it, it looks good on you." Isaac assesses, giving him a toothy grin and runs his fingers through his golden curls.

"Thanks Isaac." He says earnestly, finding himself liking the blonde guy's company.

"Yeah, no problem. You should try out for the lacrosse team. Scott and I are on the team and this other guy named Aiden. He's kind of like a frenemy of sorts, but he isn't too bad. But yeah, we need all the talent we can get ever since Jackson and Danny left. I think you'd be good at it, and it's a way to get out there and make more friends... Get involved." Isaac suggests, encouraging him to stop by coach's office before practice.

Stiles thinks about it and decides to give it a chance. Why not? It couldn't be all that bad, and it would be a great way to let out his aggression.

"Sure.. I think I will. Thanks for asking me. I haven't ever felt like part of a group before, so maybe this will be good for me."

"Yeah well, we all just want you to feel welcome." He says with a shrug and bites into his apple.

Stiles feels a warm, fuzzy feeling fill his chest and he looks over at Malia. Without her, he wouldn't be here. He'd be lost, out in the wild chasing a ghost and running away from his guilt and memories. And he'd be screaming for her, calling out for his mate. He knows that for the rest of his life he would have been looking for her in everyone he would of met. And he'd never of found her. That kind of vibrancy is rare and fleeting, washing away like sand on a beach in the eye of a storm, never to be seen again.

The gang goes their separate ways and Stiles takes a trip outside for a moment alone before his next class starts. He turns his head and catches a glimpse of a silhouette with glaring red eyes before he blinks and it's gone. His paranoia kicks in and self-preservation takes a hold of him as he turns in circles, trying to find the source of his anxiety. There's a whooshing of a body, so close yet so far away. His nerves are on overdrive and he growls at the familiar scent. A second later he is grabbed from behind and pushed up against the side of the school away from prying eyes. This head is throbbing from it making contact with the brick building and his vision swims in and out of focus.

Calculated, red eyes glint harshly in the sunlight, but Stiles stands his ground, looking back with defiance. A roguish smile breaks out across the man's face that could charm the pants off the Devil himself and Stiles wants to spit in his face.

"Peter." He addresses, flashing his canines as his eyes burn a raw blue. They harden to a dangerous point, reflecting an image of broken glass in a haze of water.

Peter grins slyly at the blue of his eyes that marks the boy as a killer. He stores it away to memory for later use. "Hello, supposed son of mine. We have so much to talk about." He says eerily before Stiles feels a sharp blow to his head and everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Okay so just to clarify some things. The Benefactor stuff did happen in this story, however, Peter did not have an ulterior motive (Trying to get Scott killed so he could become the Alpha). In the show, he was trying to manipulate Malia to help him because she and the others didn't know that Scott was the Beserker. In this story, the events are flip-flopped. The benefactor stuff happened before Stiles was found. And since in this story Stiles is his son and wasn't there during that time period, Peter has tried and succeeded to become an Alpha again in a different way, which you will find out how later as the story goes on.


	10. Come Back and Haunt Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Your silhouette is burned in my memory. Rubble remains from the moment you left me." -FRENSHIP ft. Emily Warren

Peter's eyes gleam red under the low lights of the muggy basement that's damp with mold and mildew. Stiles sits across from him with a toothy grin. His eyes clamp shut and then flicker open slowly, the brown of his eyes swimming with onyx that resembles an empty night sky. The tick in his jaw causes it to clench, drawing blood when he bites his tongue and the lone vein near his jugular beats against his alabaster skin.

He laughs manically. "You're a fucking lunatic, you know that?" Stiles quips, not even looking at Peter. Instead, his dead gaze trails to the other man's stiff disposition, counting the number of times his fingers twitch at his side. Stiles finds himself fascinated by the fear that he smells right beneath the surface. It's still there and he revels in it.

Stiles always had a knack for making people uncomfortable. Even as a child, he always knew too much. He always saw deeper into a person than they cared to share. For this, he didn't have many friends growing up. The brown-haired boy with the dimly lit eyes always had this thing about him that repelled others around him. But he had his mom and dad so he didn't mind so much. That is, until he didn't have them anymore.

"Well, you are my son. So what exactly does that say about you, my boy? Are you manic, Stiles?" Peter questions as he walks closer with hollow steps until he's right in front of his long-lost son.

A baleful smirk tugs at Stiles' chalky lips. "Oh you haven't even seen crazy, yet. I embody deranged and unhinged like it's a work of fucking art." He deadpans, finally meeting the older man's eyes.

Peter takes a step back and tsks at him in a patronizing manner. "So much potential. So many years of you that were wasted because Talia wanted to keep you from me. But what you seem to not want to admit, Stiles, is that we are the same. And you can tell yourself that I'm wrong and that your blood doesn't run the same convoluted red as mine, but the truth is that while the chaos may disturb you, there's a profound part of you that has an affinity with the deeply disturbed."

Stiles mouth closes into a thin line and he doesn't say anything. He quietly simmers in his seat and lets thoughts of Malia wash over him. Her scent. Her smile. Her eyes.  
I always thought I was searching for a place that doesn't exist, but it was you all along.

"That is why I need you, Stiles. I have regained my Alpha powers, but only temporarily. There was once a hunter named Kate, she was a part of the Argent family. You've heard of Allison, correct?"

Stiles nods.

"Well, her Aunt Kate at one point was able to turn Derek back into the 15 year old version of himself to use to her benefit, the boy who was in love with her. She wanted to learn control, so she used a weakened, naive Derek and lured her way into his little heart to get what she wanted. She needed to get into the Hale Vault in order to steal our family's triskelion disc. It's what I used to teach Derek control." He explains.

"Is there actually a point to this story or do you just love the sound of your own voice?" Stiles yawns, leaning back in his seat to get more comfortable. Or as comfortable as he could get with the ropes laced in Wolfsbane that were tied around his wrists, waist and feet.

"Patience, my boy. I'm getting there. You definitely have your mother's patience." He observes fondly. "But that's a story for another time..." He teases, but readily continues. "Anyways, the disc doesn't actually help with control. But it gave Derek something to focus on. Once Kate realized that the triskelion disc wouldn't help her, I offered her a deal."

His voice falters, but he quickly gains composure and makes his way closer to Stiles.

"I promised her that I would teach her control if she found a way to make me an Alpha again. That's where I've been for a while, making my way back to Mexico to the ancient temple on the night of the full moon. I was buried alive in masses of stone and earth, and when the moon was at it's highest, I felt this surreal embodiment of power and fullness rip through every nerve ending of my body. I'd never felt anything like it. I felt like I was tethered to thousands of interconnected souls and all of their blood was seeping straight into my bloodstream." Peter recollects, his eyes hazy with lust and his mind far far away from the little black room they were stuck in.

"Before you start drooling or something, let's cut to the chase. What does this have to do with me?" Stiles prompts impatiently, ready to get out of that hell hole. He recoils when Peter is bold enough to untie the ropes around his wrists.

"You're going to help me become an Alpha again, permanently." He whispers, flinching at the poison-soaked ropes.

"And what makes you think I'll help you?" Stiles blunt question is serious as he sits there stupefied, causing Peter to laugh freely.

"Because, my boy, you made a grave mistake. You see, you let yourself get soft. You became weak and overlooked the single thing that I will always have against you..." He pauses. "Malia... He drawls out, a crafty smile slithering across his face.

Stiles eyes flare up to a crystallized blue and his hands reach out to claw at Peter's face. However, it didn't do much good with his feet and waist still bound to the chair by the ropes. But he continues to thrash and growl, a low rumbling in his chest exploding out of him like a monster fighting to break free from the confines of his flesh.

"If you- If you even so much as think about touching her, if you even breathe her name..." Stiles stutters out hotly, saliva flying from the tips of his canines and his eyes flickering brighter and brighter like a growing flame.

"You'll do what, Stiles, kill me? I mean you can give it your best shot by your girl will be dead before I even get the satisfaction of seeing the blue of your eyes bleed into a killer's red. And even if she managed to survive what I have planned for her, she'd never be able to look at you the same way again. We are killers. That is what the Hale family was always meant to be and you are one of us."

Stiles' eyes diminish ever so slightly and his teeth sink back up into his gums. His face crumbles and a flash of vulnerability is enough for Peter to know that he has won.

"Think about it, you leave with me and she gets to live. I think that's a very generous offer coming from me. She gets to enjoy a long, happy life free from the darkness that has made a home in your bones and lives in every crevice of who you are." Peter's voice softens to a point where he almost seems sympathetic. "Because in the end, you will destroy her. Every story ends the same way."

His hand clutches Stiles' shoulder in an almost paternal way before he slashes the rest of the ropes with his claws.

He helps Stiles to his feet and his hands grasp onto either side of his face while giving it a good shake. "You can do this, Stiles. I can't have anything holding you back. I need you loyal to me no matter what. We're... Family. I know you don't agree with my methods right now and maybe you never will, but I'm doing you a favor. This is the sound of someone who knows who you truly are and embraces that about you. I find magnificence in your darkness, my son, because it's what will keep you alive." He finishes with a hard expression before shuffling him towards the door.

"Go pack a bag and say your goodbyes, but don't say where or why you are going. If you cross me, I will kill her. I don't want to do it but I won't hesitate if you provoke me." Peter emphasizes, stony blue eyes watching his reaction. "I have allies who will be watching her around the clock. You make a move against me, they slit her throat, break her bones, and leave a bloody mess behind. She's a beautiful girl, don't let it come to that. But if you cooperate, they will watch over her and take care of her while we're gone." He adds, really hoping that Stiles will make the right decision.

"I won't try anything. Her life is worth more than you and I." Stiles vows, making a move to leave. Peter catches him by the arm. "Meet me by Beacon Hills Bridge at midnight. Don't be late for her sake." He warns, letting go of his arm.

Stiles walks out the door and doesn't look back.

 

He takes the long way back to her house, hating what he was about to do but not regretting it in the slightest. He has to do right by her, that's all there is to it. He reminds himself to write a quick letter to his father and drop it off before he skips town with Peter.

Almost.  
We almost survived.  
She almost loved me.  
I almost let her.  
We almost made it.  
Perhaps 'almost' is too kind.  
Maybe in the end I wanted to be ruined a little more  
Than I wanted to be loved.  
Almost is fleeting.  
'Almosts' are almost always forgotten with time.

Stiles knows the thousands of ways he's going to break her heart. He knows the words he's going to say, the lies he's going to tell, and the ways he'll hold his breath when he feels his soul disintegrating. He'll memorize the contours of her face, the peeking dimple that hides on the left side of her cheek, her unruly dark hair, those lovely brown eyes. Everything. Because he doesn't know when he'll see her again. If he'll see her again.

He leaps onto the tree that hugs the side of her house. The rustling of the trees and the wind probably already gave him away but he can hear her small feet padding against the mahogany floor boards of her room. She gets closer and her scent grows stronger, a beguiling scent of vanilla and sage that makes him sigh.

She opens the window and lets him in, pulling him into a crushing hug.

"Oh my god, Stiles, where have you been? I was so worried about you, asshole! You didn't call or answer my texts, I thought you had ran away!" She yells sharply, slapping him hard against his chest and curls into him before stepping back. The angry look on her face turns worried when she doesn't get a response from him.

She moves in closer and tilts his head to meet her eyes. Her nose brushes against his and she tries to catch his lips yet he remains focused on the ground.

If only she knew how close he was to breaking down. He couldn't crumble around her though, he had end this. He had to break her.

"Stiles, why won't you look at me?" She pushes, running her fingers over his eyelids and intertwining their fingers with her other hand.

Malia, we need to talk." He says abruptly. His tone is cold and he untangles their hands.

"What's going on-" She begins.

"Mal, I'm leaving." He replies with a cool demeanor. His touch is hollow and empty, icy to the touch, and there's blue-black bruises under his eyes as if he hadn't slept in days.

"What do you- what do you mean leaving?" She questions. Her pallor turns a ghastly white and her bottom lip quivers. "I mean, it's not forever, right? You're coming back, aren't you?" She asks self-consciously, in some ways fully understanding what he had meant without him having to elaborate.

"I'm not coming back, Malia." He confesses and watches the news unfold across her face with a steady gaze that he prays doesn't falter.

"Is this because of the pack? Do you not feel welcome... Is it Peter? Or your mom? Or your dad? I just- I don't understand." She rushes out, pink flushed cheeks alight with confusion and anger. Her eyes flit back and forth and she brushes the stray tears from falling down her cheeks.

"I'm coming with you." She states, meeting him head on in a fiery exchange. Her eyes burn into his like a cigarette being put out on his skin and he's come to love that pain. She wasn't making this easy for him, not like he thought she would anyways, but this has to end now. He doesn't have much time before he has to meet Peter.

"Malia you can't come with me, not where I'm going."

"And why the hell not?" She challenges.

Stiles takes a deep breath and begs to whatever God or divinity is out there listening to please let her forgive him one day.

"Because... I don't love you." The words taste like acid moving up his throat.

Malia's breath hitches to a stagnant pause. The room feels suffocating and Stiles watches her in what seems like slow motion. Her beautiful, whiskey eyes somber to a muted brown. Her brows furrow together, as if she's trying to figure out the missing piece of a puzzle. Her mouth opens and closes before it settles into a firm, grim line and she stares back at him with an indistinguishable expression.

"I don't believe you." She proclaims audaciously, her eye cutting down to narrowed slits as she stalks towards him. "What's really going on, Stiles?"

"I don't know what you want me to say Malia, what you want me to do."

"I want you to steal me away and just be with me. That's what I want you to do. I'm trying so hard to understand why you're so hellbent on ruining this." She points in between the two of them. "I need you in my life, Stiles. And if you leave now, maybe for a while I will search for you, but I won't chase a ghost for the rest of my life."

"I love you so much, god dammit, and you're scaring the living hell outta me. Can you just- stop for a minute. Breathe, and just tell me what is hurting you." She whispers, leaning into him.  
He knew it would come to this.

He looks at her one more time, the last time he will ever look at Malia Tate and know without a doubt that she loves him. Because the next time he sees her, he'll just be someone that she used to know. Just another person who let her down. But he has to make her believe him otherwise she'll come looking for him as soon as he leaves.

She floats; I don't. That's what will always separate us.

It's crazy because being with her, he feels like it's impossible that it wasn't always like this. There's probably universes within dimensions upon dimensions where they end up together. He doesn't hurt her. She sews him back together. He kisses all her seams and they would fix each other over and over again.

But this isn't that life and he can't dig his fingers into her hips, praying to keep her with him. He thinks that maybe a part of who he is was crafted by the same hands that forged her, perhaps not so delicately. Because somewhere in Stiles' mind, he realizes that he has always loved her, even when they were simply matter in the air and the dirt had yet to settle.

He swears she's become more a part of him than himself. He's drowning in her and her hands are touching every piece of who he is. And he's going to miss her for the rest of his life.  


He strokes the spot behind her ear and draws her near, capturing her cheeks between his hands. He's so soft in the way he holds her, but so hard in the words that come tumbling from his mouth.

"Please believe me when I say this... I don't love you. I don't think I ever could. I think this whole time I just didn't want to be alone. Maybe you made me feel good about myself or maybe I liked how you we're easy on the eyes. But beautiful things inevitably grow boring. I couldn't possibly love you, I'm broken enough for the both of us. I don't need the extra, dead weight."  


He lies thoroughly and smoothly with the conviction of wayward sinners who go to confessionals to release their wrong-doings with pretty words that they know they don't mean. He looks deeply into her sullen eyes and captures the distinct moment that they break.

Her breathing is uneven and quick puffs of anger blow out of her. She's beautiful in her rage, wild-eyed and lips furled in a sneer.

"I want you to leave... and forget every single thing you know about me. You don't have the right to remember anything; nothing personal, nothing intimate, nothing at all. You are a coward and somehow, I know that you're still lying. But right now, that doesn't matter to me. And unfortunately, I love you. Now I'm stuck having to deal with that on my own. So while you're out there doing God knows what, I will be moving on with my life. And I want you to know that I will be okay with or without you." She finishes, taking a long step back and holds that position.

"Malia, I'm sorry."

"Just go, Stiles."

And with nothing else spoken but so many things left unsaid, Stiles escapes through the window and walks out on the one and only girl that had the capability of stealing his heart.


	11. Took The Breath From My Open Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song Inspiration: Anchor By Novo Amor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: So I've been watching Skam and I fell in love with Noora and William. I really liked the phrase "People need people" so I incorporated it into this chapter. I also added in a quote that Veronica says in the new Riverdale trailer. I'm so excited for that show! I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas!

Malia lays curled up in her wool blanket, the rough fabric teasing her bare feet and cocooning around her arms. She had forgotten what it felt like to cry, not those shallow tears that could be misconstrued as broken and pretty, but dry-heaved sobs that wrack her body and screams that strip her throat raw moments after he had left. It's a good thing her dad isn't home. Crumbling to the ground, she felt this phantom pressure go through her skull and her chest felt like it would burst from the constant pounding of her heart. She didn't know it could hurt like this: love. There was nothing pretty about this, nothing to romanticize. Pain is ugly, not poetic.

Her puffy red eyes travel to the corner of her room where the wildflower he had given her is taped to the wall along with pictures of them together that got lost in the collage of photos of the pack, drawings, and some of her favorite quotes. Her legs are numb from the amount of time she'd spent on the ground. Her joints creak and ache like the withered floorboards of her room when she stands. It's nearly daylight as the sun breaks over the horizon, spilling light through her window that is still left ajar. She walks over to her mess of thoughts that are displayed on her wall in the form of photos and words.

Her fingers trace over the phrase that caught her eye, and the corner of her mouth upturns ever so slightly as she wipes a tear from her cheek.

"People Need People"

"People need people..." She repeats, her voice echoing in her ears and she realizes how small she sounds. It matches how small she feels.

She pulls her phone off her rumpled bed sheets and finds a name. She presses the call button and brings the phone up to her ear, waiting for a sound.

"Malia"

"Hey Scotty, can you come over?" She breathes, clutching the phone close to her so she can capture the comfort she feels through the phone as Scott's voice washes over her.

He can hear the vacancy in her tone and knows that something must of happened.

"I'm on my way, 'Lia." He assures. They are both silent for a moment and all that is heard is their shallow breathing that lets the other know that they are still on the phone. She wasn't ready to hang up with him just yet. She grasping at this small piece of him, wishing she could claw him right out of the phone and fall into his arms.

Malia's walls shake. "Thank you for always being here for me. I don't know who'd I'd be without you. You- you've always made me feel safe... loved." She confesses, her eyes beginning to well up with tears.

He surprises her by laughing."You'd still be the bad ass, beautiful, scatter-brained anomaly that I've known since we were kids. You didn't need me, I needed you. But I mean... I am pretty great, aren't I?" Scott teases, pulling a chuckle out her as she wipes her eyes.

"You're a goofball, you know that?" She smiles, even if he can't see it. But somehow, he probably knows. He always does.

"I'm also your best friend and I'll be over in five minutes." He hangs up and Malia feels a little lighter, like the world didn't just crush her under it's weight several hours ago.  
Her thoughts drift back to Stiles.

It couldn't of all been unrequited, could it? Is it possible to fill someone up with so much love and feel absolutely nothing?

Her brows furrow at her inner-monologue, and something deep inside her simmers.

She's angry.

Hurt.

Devastated.

Enraged.

She had let Lydia walk all over her. She had let Stiles make her feel weak. She always fell in love with beautiful, broken things: Lydia, the girl with stars in her eyes that just wanted to be secure with who she was. She reminded Malia of succulent peaches and dandelions. Malia loves girls with pouty red lips and ones that decorate themselves in pretty dresses.

And Stiles, the haunted boy with so much magnetism in his bones. Someone who just wanted to jump out of his skin and wake up from this dream called life. Boys like him had magic shooting out of their fingertips, drawing you into their destruction until it ruins you. Malia loves boys with chocolate eyes and bruised eyelids who find art in girls like her.

And maybe she never noticed that she was breaking as well, not seeing the picture clearly through other people's shattered, distorted pieces. Those sharp edges left cracks in her skin and punctures in her heart.

Maybe it's time to find out who Malia Tate is without her infatuation with messy people with messy intentions defining who she is. She needed this. Because once you fall for someone, all the voices in your head scream that they are the one and that there will never be another one ever again once you lose them.

But what if this time I was right?

Malia bites the inside of her cheek, berating herself for the thought.

She struts purposefully into her bathroom seeing her swollen cheeks, glassy eyes, and tear streaks imprinted on her face. Her eyes crackle beneath her appraisal. Her frowns deepens into a scowl and her nose twitches and flares, something that happens when she's mad. "This isn't me. I'm not this girl." She speaks to her reflection, hitting the mirror with her fist with a powerful punch. The glass smashes beneath the strength of her hand. She winches when she tried to flex her fingers, observing the blood with interest. She's entranced by the bruises that begin to form on her knuckles. She wraps her hand in a towel that sits on the sink which managed to escape the wreckage. Her fist throbs, but underneath it all, she doesn't really notice the pain.  


She takes her attention away from her hand and back up to the mirror, or what's left of it. Her bloodied hand must of caught her lip in her outburst. Seamless, red blood smudges on her lips like a grotesque finger painting, the metallic-coppery taste being the first thing she notices. She stares hard at her reflection, her tongue flicking over the scarlet blood. A part of her reveled in the picturesque vision of herself dripping in red. She's a ruptured girl desperate for a coping mechanism, blood and love spilling out of her like an egg yolk.

"I think I like me this way." She whispers when a grin that stretches across her face.

She pulls her tangled brown hair into a half-up top knot, brushing out the rest that lays past her shoulders. Dried, flaking mascara coats her lashes and smears underneath her eyes. She takes a cool towelette and wipes it away, ridding the black marks from her face. She reapplies a fresh coat and digs into her small collection of makeup, pulling out a deep maroon lipstick that Kira had given her as a Christmas present. She swipes it over her lips and removes any access residue on a napkin.

She smirks. "Maybe I like me this way, a lot." The grin deepens the longer she stares. Empty eyes bore back but that's what makes it easier. And even then, pearly white teeth glare back at her in the hundreds of shattered glass that surround her. With her head on a swivel, she sees them all, numerous faces the same as her own staring back at her in the reflection of the pieces. It feels nice to have some company, even if it's only an illusion.

"There will be a reckoning. And maybe, that reckoning is me."

With a satisfied look, she turns on her heel and exits the bathroom.

Scott knocks idly on the door before letting himself in. He wasn't really worried about catching her indecent. They used to take baths together as kids and run around in their diapers. They'd had weirder moments than seeing each other naked.

"Malia, I'm here." He says, moving further into her room. "I brought star wars, rocky road ice cream, and twizzlers. I figured comfort food was the best option... Even though I'm not exactly sure what's wrong." He continues, catching her rummaging through her dresser.

He puts his hand on her shoulder and turns her around. "Malia, what are you doing?" He asks, noticing a pile of shirts, hoodies, and other miscellaneous items on the floor.  
"I'm just cleaning out some stuff." She says with a shrug, but something about her voice sounds off.

"Isn't that Stiles' stuff?" He asks, recognizing a plaid flannel that he'd seen the scruffy-haired boy wear once or twice.

Malia mumbles a quiet, "yep", and continues to add to the pile.

He pins her arms to her side and smooths her hair."Okay, Mal, can you just stop for a second? What's going on and why are you throwing out Stiles' stuff?" His brows furrow and he searches for an answer.

"We kind of broke up, I guess."She says quietly. "He left."

A hollow feeling rises in his chest when he processes what she said.

"Where did he go?" Scott urges on. "He wouldn't just leave without a reason, especially without you."

"Yeah... Well he did. He left me behind and he isn't coming back." Her mouth forms a grim line and her eyes are clouded over with something that Scott can't place.  
He reaches out to her, ready and willing to pull all the sadness out of her and take it for himself. She shies away from him and wraps her arms protectively around her body.

She has no idea how much that hurts.

"Don't do that, 'Lia, don't hide from me." He cups her cheeks and runs a finger over her temple. "You don't have to put up a front with me, you know that."

Her lip quivers and the slight shake of her hands isn't visible to the naked eye, but Scott catches it easily, knowing all of her mannerisms and triggers by heart.

She forcibly removes his hands off of her and finally lets her frustrations out in a string of confessions. "I'm not helpless, I don't need you to save me all the time, Scott." She says adamantly, instantly regretting it. She hates the crushing feeling in her throat at the hurt that shines in her best friend's eyes.

"I wasn't trying to imply that-" He starts, but Malia continues to throw words at him.

"I'm always the one that needs to be rescued. I'm always terrified! I hate that feeling! I want to feel powerful. I want to be independent like Allison, confident like Lydia, and optimistic like Kira. I'm tired of being the weakest link in the pack and I can't stand for another person to tell me that I'm not good enough." Her brown eyes harden. "I'm tired of falling for people who don't love me back, feeling anxiety creeping up my spine when I shut the lights off at night, feeling unwanted and unlovable. Am I really that repulsive, Scott? I'm I that uninteresting? Meaningless? Insignificant?" She screams.

"Malia, stop. You are none of those things, where is all of this coming from?"

"Who am I kidding, you're Scott McCall, so you wouldn't understand. Everyone you meet adores you automatically, you don't even have to try. You've never felt the sorrow of knowing that there is not a single person in the world who loves you." Her voice grows small but a hearth builds in her chest until she breathes more fire with her words.

"I think my whole life I've been wondering what it's like to meet someone like Stiles. And I remember the night that we found him, it was so glaringly obvious that he would be my wonder wall. We both knew that he were doomed from the start, stuck on each other when our eyes met. Even then, my body hummed for his, tasted his darkness on my tongue. I was ashamed of how much I liked it." She blushes and looks down at her feet before meeting his eyes again. "I didn't think that I'd ever need to ask him to stay. I figured that he'd want to, that I'd finally found someone that didn't mind that I'm not perfect. I always knew that a part of him was fighting his instincts, caught between humanity and falling into the footsteps of his father. And I understood him. We paralleled each other. I empathized with his struggle. And... I loved him." She murmurs out the last part, mentally kicking herself for letting him have power over her once again.

Scott's jaw is locked and his fists clench at his sides. He is not mad at her, he's mad at himself.

"How did I not know this? How did I not realize that you were spiraling?" He murmurs, grabbing his head and pulling at his hair. "You're my very best friend, how did I not see it sooner? Malia, I'm so sorry I let this get out of hand. I should have followed my instincts about Stiles, I should have protected you." He continues to ramble.

Malia instantly feels like the worst person in the world.

"No, Scott... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things. My burdens are my own and you shouldn't feel like everything is your fault because it's not. I was out of line and I'm being a horrible friend. You're my best friend, my brother. And friends don't treat friends that way."

She pulls him into her arms.

"Already forgiven. You have nothing to be sorry for." He says, stroking her hair and squeezing her back. "But the whole Stiles thing is weird. That boy was too in love with you to walk away. We have to be missing something." He assures.

"I can't do it. I've lost too many people in my life and it's a long list. I don't feel like adding anyone else to it. I can't risk getting my hopes up if this all turns out to be one big slap in my face. Maybe I just need to let Stiles go. If he loves me, he'll come back."

They sit on the bed and Scott pulls out the half-melted ice cream with two spoons and plugs in the Star Wars movie. "We'll figure this out, 'Lia. Don't give up on him just yet, because I believe in my heart that he wouldn't give up on you." He finishes, skipping through the previews and nestling her into his side.

"What did it feel like when Allison broke up with you?" She questions, flickering her eyes over to his face awaiting his answer.

"It felt like Hell. I felt this disconnect with myself because she was my anchor."

"How did you make it stop?" She asks solemnly.

"I learned to be my own anchor."


	12. A Little Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Crawl inside this body - find me where I am most ruined, love me there."  
> -Rune Lazuli

Empty pools of black fill the holes in the sky like a shadowed cloak as Stiles stares up at the once graveyard of stars. The moon is mourning, the bare blackness of it's surroundings eating it away, all light dissipated.

His raw, honeyed eyes are red-rimmed from crying in sorrow, an emotion that hasn't visited him since his mother's death. He thinks of his wild-eyed girl that he'd left behind with nebulous thoughts and feels her absence in every nerve of his body.

He already misses her.

He misses Malia's chaos, her softness that paradoxes her coldness and the hard edge in her voice that roared with reckless abandon when she's angry. He misses the taste of her lips, the smile behind her eyes, and the parts of her that are just as tarnished as him.

He remembers the texture of her hands, the ticklish spot behind her knees, and the birth mark that lays beyond the shell of her ear that you could only see if you were really looking for it. He remembers finding it when he'd offered to help her put on one of her necklaces. She'd been so frustrated at not being able to clasp it herself and pouted when he brushed the hair off the back of her neck and did it for her. He'd seen the mark and kissed it lightly causing her to smile, and from then on it had become his favorite spot to ravish her.

Small raindrops begin to fall, taking Stiles back to the memory of their first date. It plays behind his eyes, him awkwardly grasping her hips while trying to keep his eyes on the dirt road. Malia, lustrous and beguiling in the way her long tan legs swing back and forth at the seat of his handlebars, a pretty smile slanted onto her face. He's reliving it all again in slow motion. And then he remembers their song.

"She looks like the real thing  
She tastes like the real thing  
My fake plastic love."

Stiles stands alone with the rain pelting down on him and the song gravitating through his mind. His shirt is soaked to the bone with water trickling down his head, turning his dark hair into an inky black mess that falls into his eyes before cascading down his cheeks. Rain and tears seep together to a point where it's impossible to taste the saltiness of the latter.

Angst-ridden and reminiscent, Stiles trudges through the grass and mud that clings to his jeans until he comes upon the creaky, old Beacon Hills bridge that's layered in moss with ivy vines twirled around the sides. The sign that hangs there is rickety and falling apart, much like the catacombs of his mind grappling for some control. He can feel himself slipping, just barely hanging on by a thread. He's back to the same place that threatened to drown him so many years back and this time he almost lets it.

"I'm glad you made the right choice." Peter says as he appears from behind a shroud of trees. "I was afraid I'd have to come looking for you. That could have gotten messy."

Stiles flinches. "Look I'm here and I said I'd go with you, but do me a favor and cut the small talk. I'm not here to find any redeeming qualities in you because I know you don't have any. If we're doing this, it's business and that's it. I don't talk to you and you don't talk to me unless it's paramount. And don't even entertain the idea that I'm here because I want to know you because I don't." He pauses to catch his breath, "I already have a dad." He growls, his nostrils flaring as his eyes flash dangerously.

Peter holds his hands up in surrender. "Fair enough, I can see when I'm not wanted. But in time, you will see that this is the best thing I could have ever done for you. I may not be your dad, but I am your father, whether you like it or not." He states, walking towards the lanky boy. "And my son, you will learn a great many things about yourself along the way. You have so much power and untapped potential, it's right beneath your finger tips. You can have the world cowering at your feet and learn to love the violent parts of yourself. When we're through, you won't want to come back to the remnants of your sad, old life."

Stiles faces falls into a grim line. "And then I'll be like you."

"And then you'll be like me." The older man confirms, waiting for Stiles to make the next move.

"I don't want to be a monster." Stiles murmurs, looking down at a puddle in the ground and seeing Malia's face staring back at him with disapproving eyes.

Peter lays a hand on the younger boy's shoulder causing Stiles to growl in warning. He removes his hand quickly, cautious of the temper his biological son holds that could rival his own. "We are all monsters in our own right. Some of us just choose not to hide from it." He coaxes. "It runs in the family."

Stiles smirks darkly, already calling bullshit. Derek is far from being a ruthless killer. "I guess it's a good thing that I'm a Stilinski and not a Hale."

Peter balks. "Call yourself whatever you want, cupcake, but it won't change the truth. Now if you're ready to go, we need to get moving. Getting to Mexico is going to take some time."  


Stiles looks around. "Where's your car?"

Peter chuckles. "You really thought we were going to drive? That's too easy for your friends to track us. Plus, I've learned to camouflage my scent and I'll teach you throughout the journey. But first you have to shift..." He gestures towards Stiles, looking him up and down as if waiting for something miraculous to happen.

"When I'm in my coyote form I lose control..." Stiles stutters, nervously wringing his hands together and gnawing at his bottom lip. He was overwhelmed and frankly scared as hell. What would happen if he let his primal urges take over? Malia is what kept him rooted to his humanity for this long. Without her, he would have turned back into a coyote without a second thought.

"Loss of control is what makes people like us feel the most alive." Peter reveals, making a move to remove his v-neck shirt and pants.

Stiles shudders. "Ew... What the hell are you doing? Now I'm going to be scarred for life. A little heads up would have been nice." He grimaces and turns away with a disgruntled expression. "You're like 40 years old, why do you even own a v-neck?" He mumbles to himself before removing his wet shirt and jeans and making a makeshift sling that will fit around his shoulder. He'll need clothes for when they actually make it to Mexico unless they planned on venturing naked, which was completely out of the question. He could see the headlines now.

He cringes at the thought. Stiles has never been a modest guy, but that's just disgusting.

Peter turns to look at him. "Well, what are you waiting for? Shift, already. The clock is ticking."

Stiles tries, he really does. But the one thing that anchored him to his coyote was anger, resentment, and hate. He had tons of that bottled up, but he needed something to trigger it.

"I can't"

Peter rolls his eyes at the dramatics. "And why not?"

"Anger is what triggers my shift. I need something to provoke me."

Peter chuckles, his cheshire grin widening to reveal razor sharp teeth. "Lucky for you, that's my specialty. You want to get angry, Stiles?" He says, poking him in the chest which serves its purpose of pissing Stiles off. "Let's get angry!"

Peter swipes his claws across Stiles chest before he can react, leaving an oozing bloody gash ripped through the skin. The torn flesh burns bright and hot, each breeze of air that hits it feeling like a douse of alcohol.

Stiles howls in pain.

His eyes flood a glacial blue before erupting in hell-fire that ripples in the outer corners. He lets out a series of grunts and feral snarls that cause him to lash out, but he still hasn't reached full shift. His chuckles contain a hint of a danger, "Is that all you've got, old man?" The chuckles continue to rip through him as they crawl out his throat. "I can see why you aren't the Alpha, anymore."  
Stiles hits a nerve and Peter huffs angrily, his body breaking and contorting in a sequence of inhuman transitions. The cracking and re-breaking of his bones splinters through the night, causing him to yelp in pain. His spine elongates and curves, turning him into even more of a monster. His body is covered in ashy black fur and his devil eyes bleed red. His sharp teeth curl in a snarl of his own before he launches at Stiles.

His teeth are the first thing that catch Stiles' body, his canines dripping in saliva and clamping down hard on the young boy's shoulder. Stiles roars in agony, fighting off the demon wolf with sparkling red eyes.

"Shift, boy." Peter growls out, his words slurring together in between the snapping of his teeth and the clenching of his jaw that's hard enough to break it in half. "Or the next bite I take will be a chunk out of Malia. And I bet she's delicious."

"You aren't going to touch her, we had a deal!"

"The deal was that you do as I say, when I say it. And I said SHIFT!" The older man barks, trying to find an opening of weakness to exploit and strike. "I'll turn her, Stiles, don't think I won't. And if not me, one of my spies will. Do it now, or the deal is off and you'll have no one to blame but yourself." He grins, Stiles' blood staining his teeth and snout. "And she'll hate you... even more than she probably already does."

Stiles stills at his words.

He thinks of her.

"I'm so sorry, Malia." He whispers. "We both know I was never good enough for you, I was fooling myself to believe that you could fix me." His eyes fill with tears. "Only I can fix me. But if one day you'll have me back, I want you to crawl inside this body - find me where I am most ruined, and love me there." He murmurs to himself, wishing more than anything that she could hear him and having hope that somewhere inside her, she knew.

His body quivers and convulses, the same rapid rhythm of bones breaking themselves over and over as Peter's had. His human hands turn to claws. His nose into a snout. His mole-covered flesh is blanketed in charcoal fur. His teeth slice through his gums and he lets out a ferocious howl that echos throughout the moonless sky.

Blue eyes meet red.

Those soulless red eyes stare back at him with a glint of approval.

And Stiles feels like the whole world has once again shifted on it's axis, but this time he misses the radiant, blazing, iridescent color. Through these eyes, everything weeps black, making his way back into the Twilight Zone he came from. He had thought human-life was an awaking of a cosmic horror when he had first shifted and seen the world through virgin eyes. It felt like a lifetime ago. But being like this... Back to a life of roaming the woods alone... This felt like a never-ending panic attack.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave some love in the review box please <3


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